Sugar and Spice

A Collection of Kinky Girl-On-Girl Stories

Edited by Mira Paul

A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication
www.ravenousromance.com

Copyright © 2011 by Ravenous Romance

Ravenous Romance™

100 Cummings Center

Suite 123A

Beverly, MA 01915

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-386-3

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Introduction by Mira Paul

Nothing Like the Sun by Elizabeth Thorne

The Taming of Ms. Lucy by Louisa Bacio

Breakfast at Jackie’s by J.V. Altharas

Enforcement by Dorla Moorehouse

Her Equestrian Melody by V. C.

Lucky by Xan West

Daddy’s Home by Scarlet Page

Für Elise by Maggie Morton

Homecoming by Angel Propps

No Love, No Glove by Giselle Renarde

The Domination of Rubberella by Thomma Finland

Introduction

We were a tangled mass of limbs and lust when she made me say it. Fingers waist deep in my pussy, she made me beg, “Please fuck me…Daddy.”

Daddy. That one word, slowly massaged out of me by her skilled fingers, shifted my entire world. Before she came along, I only whispered my desires in dark corners and pretended that relationships without pain, rope, and power exchange could satisfy me.

She called herself Daddy and introduced me to others who called themselves Mistress, Top, Sir, Madame, slave, bottom, pet, submissive. She brought me into a community of women who claimed their desires proudly and wore their identities with regal authenticity. There weren’t any dark corners here. They unabashedly mixed romance and kinky eroticism into their everyday lives, replaced the mundane with sugar and spice, and along with Daddy showed me one hundred and one new ways to transform pain into pleasure.

This collection is filled with stories about these types of women. In Elizabeth Thorne’s Nothing Like the Sun, a Mistress and her slave, Mara, blend the sacred and the erotic into a loving ritual of submission:

Mara moaned around her Mistress’s fingers, loving the feeling of being so open and available to her every whim.

J.V. Altharas’s characters, on the other hand, find a perfect place for devotion in the corporate world in Breakfast at Jackie’s. The two come together so nicely that I had to wonder how many assistants began their mornings under a desk, bringing their boss to orgasm.

All the stories here rejoice in the love, excitement, and orgasms that SM can bring to committed relationships. Some authors flirt with the edge of consent to bring their characters to new levels of trust, while others make SM as familiar as dicing veggies for dinner.

At the heart of all of these stories are women who can dominate, whip, and fuck their way to erotic fulfillment and do so without shame. Read these stories to your lover or yourself and bring this spice into your own life.

Nothing Like The Sun

by Elizabeth Thorne

Mara took Friday afternoon off from work and spent hours preparing her Sabbath dinner. She was experimenting with a new recipe and enjoyed having the opportunity to concentrate so completely on the task. The abundance of time she had spilling out before her allowed braiding the special six-stranded challah to become a form of moving meditation. Shaping the bread made her feel so free and focused that, while it was undergoing its final rising cycle, she went down to her craft room, drew six lengths of crimson leather from her stash of supplies, and wove them into a matching whip.

Later, when setting the table for the night, Mara curled her beautiful braided creation around the Sabbath candles to highlight the matching intricacies in the structure of the bread. Then she pulled the Moroccan chicken casserole from the oven to rest and went into the bedroom to clean herself up before her Mistress’s arrival.

As was her wont, Michelle called when she was a few minutes away, letting the phone ring twice, then hanging up before Mara could answer. When Mara heard their private signal, she finished brushing her hair, hung the damp robe from her shower on the back of the bathroom door, and fetched her collar from its place of honor beside the bed. Taking one last look at the Sabbath table to make certain nothing was out of place, she unlocked the front door and knelt before it, naked and head bowed, to wait for Michelle to arrive.

No matter how many times she had waited for her Mistress like this on the Sabbath, Mara still found it exciting. There was something oddly empowering about preparing their home and her body to welcome the woman she loved. It made her feel strong to be comfortable enough to kneel there wearing only her skin, and it made her feel beautiful every time Michelle asked her to do so. The heat in Michelle’s eyes when she looked on her slave’s naked body had helped Mara to finally begin to love herself as much as she still was amazed that her Mistress did.

Mara had been in place for only a few seconds when she heard her Mistress’s steps on the front porch, but thoughts of Michelle’s arrival had already warmed her body with lust. Waiting for her Mistress on her knees always felt like a promise of things to come.

* * * *

Michelle opened the door to the scents of fresh-baked bread, garlic, and roasting meat, and the sight of a naked woman on her knees. Pausing for a moment to take a deep breath, she marveled at what her relationship with Mara had become.

When the two of them had met at a lesbian bar on the Lower East Side, Michelle had never imagined the feisty young woman would end up being such an important part of her life. She had found Mara adorable, with her pert, athletic figure, short black bob, and bright green cat’s-eye glasses, but she had assumed any involvement would be a passing fling. She knew what she wanted from a long-term relationship and hadn’t imagined that the girl would be able to give her—this.

Looking around, Michelle saw the life she had always wished for and never imagined she would actually be able to have. The house they shared was in a lovely suburb, perfect for raising children. The table was set for the Sabbath dinner that would be a quiet affirmation of their faith. But most important of all, the intelligent, self-assured young woman at Michelle’s feet was not just her girlfriend and her partner, but her slave.

Michelle took her time hanging up her coat and putting away her purse, knowing that waiting for her attention increased the feelings of ownership and objectification that a week of running her small bookstore made Mara so often crave. Finally, Michelle took the collar from where it rested in Mara’s hands and her girl looked up to meet her eyes.

“I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,” Michelle said as she locked the cool steel band around Mara’s throat and, holding the collar in her hand, drew her lover up for a kiss.

“Yours,” Mara said, “for as long as you want me.” The words, which the girl had once spoken out of fear and uncertainty, now sounded like a ritual promise. “Welcome home.”

Mara’s throaty voice was an invitation that Michelle had no desire to resist, “Can the dinner you created for us tonight wait a while before we eat it?” Michelle asked. “I’ve suddenly had the desire to put something else in your mouth.”

Her slave’s eyes flashed with desire as she answered, “Yes, ma’am. There’s nothing that won’t be just as good in a few hours.”

“Then do what you need to do with the food and meet me in the bedroom,” Michelle responded. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

* * * *

After putting the casserole in the refrigerator, Mara went into the bedroom to wait. She assumed the pose she knew her Mistress preferred, kneeling with her legs wide apart and her spine curved to press her face to the floor. Mara was, she had to admit, also quite fond of the position herself. She enjoyed how sensual and vulnerable it felt to have her ass and cunt so open to her Mistress’s view. It made her feel like an offering.

When she heard the water in the shower stop, Mara quivered in anticipation but kept her forehead pressed to the floor. The door to the bathroom opened and she heard Michelle’s voice say, “Good girl” before she felt the cool, damp skin of her Mistress’s foot against the back of her shoulders, pressing her tighter to the ground.

The increase in the curve of her spine was almost painful, but Mara loved the feeling of being under her Mistress’s control. She could hear Michelle toweling off above her, and she gasped and squirmed each time a drop of water fell down upon her heated skin.

“A little excited, are we?” Michelle asked from above her head as she removed the weight from her foot and trailed her toes down the length of Mara’s spine.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mara said, sighing as Michelle stepped away from her to hang up her towel.

“Whatever am I going to do with you?”

Mara closed her eyes and steeled herself for a moment to find the strength to say the words. “I am your slave, Mistress. You should do whatever you want.”

“Very good, girl,” Michelle said, then sitting down on the bed, she continued. “Look at me.”

Mara sat back on her heels and stared up at her Mistress.

My mistress’s eyes are nothing like the sun, she thought, but they heat me all the same. Mara loved the look in Michelle’s eyes as her Mistress gazed down at her. It was hungry and certain, as though Mara was a possession that Michelle had long coveted and was finally in a position to take. Which, Mara supposed, was true.

Mara could feel herself growing wetter just from the power in that stare. It was funny, she thought. If you had asked her five years ago to describe the woman she would fall in love with, she would have spun tales of lush, bosomy blondes fond of pin curls and red lipstick, not the slender, strong redhead who stood before her. Michelle wasn’t so much beautiful as she was handsome, and the contractor was far fonder of jeans and wife-beaters than rockabilly dresses. Still, Mara had never wanted anyone so much.

It sometimes frightened Mara to know she would do almost anything Michelle requested of her, however humiliating or painful, just to have her love and her touch. In fact, in a way, she longed for Michelle to ask her for things she hated and feared. Submitting to things that were difficult for her always made Mara feel more truly like her beloved’s slave.

Michelle reached into a bag she had placed on the bed before going into the shower and pulled out a strange metal contraption. It was composed of two curved bars and what seemed to be a ratcheting system. Mara had no idea what it was for until Michelle leaned towards her, kissed her on the forehead, and said, “Open your mouth.”

Mara did as she was told, and her Mistress worked the two bars between her lips so they curved behind her teeth.

“Grunt when it becomes painful,” Michelle said, then began forcing Mara’s mouth open with the ratchet.

When her jaw had been widened to a point that was stressful, but not quite painful, Mara grunted at her Mistress, and Michelle locked the dental gag in place. Mara could feel herself drooling around the metal and was both horrified and turned on by how dehumanizing losing control of her mouth made her feel.

“My beautiful little animal,” Michelle said, running a finger over Mara’s cheek before dipping it into her mouth and stroking the top of her palate, making her squirm.

Mara tried to respond and found she couldn’t form words around the gag, only grunt.

“You can’t even talk, can you?” Michelle moved another two fingers into Mara’s mouth, pushing them deep enough into her throat to make her gag before drawing back. “Now you really are just a series of holes for me to use.”

Mara moaned around her Mistress’s fingers, loving the feeling of being so open and available to her every whim.

Michelle fucked her girl’s mouth with her fingers for a little while, loving the sense of power it filled her with to see Mara drooling and gagging uncontrollably around her hand. When she pulled her fingers from her slave’s mouth, she smiled to see the combined look of relief and disappointment on the girl’s tear-covered face.

“Don’t worry,” Michelle said, wiping her fingers on Mara’s cheek before walking around to the other side of the bed. “I’m not done with you yet.” Then she pulled her favorite cock and harness from the nightstand drawer.

Mara looked at her with hunger in her eyes as Michelle slipped the base of the double-ended dildo deep inside her own body before securing it firmly with the leather straps. Michelle ran her hands over the long, firm pink cock where it now stuck out in front of her pelvis, and could feel it move against her clit and vibrate deep within her cunt as she jerked herself off for a moment before moving the tip of the dildo to rest between her slave’s waiting lips.

“Do you think it will fit?” Michelle asked as Mara looked up at her with fear and anticipation in her eyes. “Or will I have to open you wider?” She grasped her slave’s hair in a firm handhold and slowly started to push her cock between the metal bars holding open her jaw.

Fucking Mara’s mouth while she was wearing the dental gag was a fascinating experience. Her slave couldn’t work her cock with her lips and tongue the way she normally would when she was on her knees, but Michelle loved how deeply she could force herself into Mara’s throat with her jaw held so wide. The pleasure she was taking in the act came more from the power she felt at having so much control over her slave’s mouth than from the sensations of fucking her throat, and Michelle felt herself becoming more and more turned on. Tears streamed down her girl’s face while Michelle treated Mara’s mouth as just another gaping hole.

The sight of Mara naked at her feet remained Michelle of the most beautiful things she had ever seen, and she couldn’t help smiling as she repeatedly forced the girl’s head deep onto her cock, making her groan and gag. Finally, when she began to worry that her slave couldn’t take it any more, she pulled out of her mouth.

“Climb up onto the bed and bend over, little animal,” Michelle said. “You have other holes for me to violate before I’ll be ready to welcome in the Sabbath.”

Mara shivered at her Mistress’s words before clambering up onto the bed. Her jaw ached and her throat was sore from dental gag and the pressure of the big latex cock in her mouth, but if anything it had only made her want Michelle more. Every moment of pain, ever second of gagging humiliation, had increased Mara’s desire to be fucked.

Spreading her knees as wide as she could, Mara bent over with her cunt and ass in the air. The continuing presence of the dental gag in her mouth made her feel deliciously dehumanized and open and like nothing more than a toy for her Mistress’s use. It was erotic to have a woman as incredible as Michelle want her so much that she would choose to use her for her pleasure, and Mara loved the sensation of being just a body to for her owner to hurt and violate at will.

Mara moaned at the feeling of Michelle’s cock pressing against the entrance to her cunt.

“You want that, do you, little animal?” Michelle pushed Mara’s face into the bed and held her still. “You want your Mistress’s cock?”

Mara tried to push back onto Michelle’s cock, but her Mistress’s hand on her neck wouldn’t let her move, and she moaned in frustration.

“You little slut,” Mara felt the fingers of Michelle’s other hand reach around her body to toy between her legs. “Do you realize you’re dripping wet?”

Mara grunted around the dental gag and tried to push back onto her lover’s fingers.

“In fact,” Michelle said, pulling back her hips and making Mara whine in desperation, “you’re so wet, I bet I wouldn’t need any extra lube if I decided to fuck your ass instead.”

Mara suddenly stilled as the head of her Mistress’s cock moved to press against her tight pink hole.

“We’ve been talking about my doing that more, haven’t we, little animal?” Michelle worked two fingers into Mara’s cunt as she asked the question. “My using your sweet little ass?”

The feeling of her Mistress’s fingers inside her was incredible, but Mara was afraid to move because if she did, she knew just where that cock would go. Suddenly the latex she had so recently ached to have inside her seemed too large and frightening to take.

Although Mara regularly fantasized about Michelle holding her down and fucking her ass, the truth was that she feared it as well. They’d done some anal play with fingers and toys, but Michelle had never actually fucked her from behind. Mara wasn’t even sure if she wanted her to, or if the fantasy was hot only because it was something she feared.

After having her lover’s cock in her mouth, Mara had already wanted to be fucked so badly that she felt like she would cry, and the sensation of Michelle’s fingers inside of her only increased her desire more. They weren’t quite what she so desperately craved, but they were so close and she whimpered around the gag as she felt her Mistress’s fingers withdraw and her cock move as Michelle slowly covered the latex with Mara’s fluids.

Again and again, Michelle dipped her fingers into her lover’s body and moved the liquid to her cock, until Mara couldn’t take the teasing any longer and slowly started to push back against the latex.

“Good girl.” Michelle’s voice was husky behind her, and Mara felt the pressure on her ass increase. “Hold still a moment,” she continued, then there was a cool, liquid sensation as Michelle grabbed the lube from the nightstand and poured it over her cock.

“Now show me you want it,” Michelle said, and kept her hips still, forcing Mara to face her fears and impale her own ass on her Mistress’s cock.

Mara could feel tears running down her cheeks as she slowly pushed back onto the latex. The cock hurt as it slowly stretched her open, but she quickly discovered it also felt good. There was a popping sensation as the head of the cock finally slipped all the way into her ass, then Michelle moaned behind her and began to move.

Mara could feel her Mistress’s fingers digging into her hips as she thrust deeply into her body. The sensation of being stretched open, of being violated, was incredible, and she realized she was loving the exquisite combination of pleasure and pain almost as much as she got off on the feeling of being her Mistress’s toy. She drooled around the gag still in her mouth as Michelle fucked her first slowly, then with ever increasing speed and force, until her Mistress orgasmed with one final thrust of her hips that pushed Mara’s face deep into the bed.

“Did you come from that, little animal?” Michelle asked her slave when she finally got her breath back. “Did you come from my using your ass?”

Mara shook her head.

“Good girl.” Michelle patted her on the head and slowly pulled her cock from Mara’s ass, before removing it and the harness from her own body.

Mara moaned in desperation. Sometimes she hated how it seemed like the more Michelle asked of her, the more she seemed to want.

“What?” Michelle asked her. “You still need to be filled?”

Mara nodded and arched her back further to try to lure Michelle into a touch.

“I don’t know,” Michelle said. “I think it might be time for Sabbath dinner. I think it might be nice to have you naked and hungry at my feet.”

Mara’s body shook with desire, but she knelt up and tried not to cry as Michelle took the gag from her mouth. She knew that being forced to wait for satisfaction would only make it hotter when she was finally allowed her release, but that didn’t make the time in between any less of a torment.

Michelle watched Mara trembling as she pulled the casserole from the refrigerator and put it on the table before lighting the Sabbath candles and saying the prayers. She loved how much her girl wanted her, and how much she would give her even when Mara desperately wanted her to take.

Seeing Mara curled up naked at her feet, eating from her plate on the floor, filled Michelle with an overwhelming amount of love for her slave, and renewed her amazement at what they had built together. She knew how much it cost Mara to sit, eat, and wait, instead of begging for release, and Michelle couldn’t help smiling at her girl’s devotion.

Reaching to take a piece of challah, Michelle noticed the matching whip curled up beside the intricately braided bread.

“Did you make this for me?” she asked, holding it up questioningly before Mara’s eyes.

“Yes, Mistress.” Mara looked down shyly. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” Michelle smiled down at her girl. “I’ll have to use it on you after dinner. It’s been a while since you had a good beating.”

Mara closed her eyes for a moment before returning Michelle’s gaze. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

They talked of inconsequential matters for the rest of the meal, but Michelle couldn’t help noticing how quickly Mara finished her food and how often her eyes flicked towards the crimson tails of the flogger where they fell over the edge of her lap.

After she and Mara had put away the food and gotten the dishes into the dishwasher, Michelle picked the flogger back off of the chair where she had left it and gestured her slave into the living room. “Wait here,” she said before heading back down the hall to get the other things she thought she might need.

When she returned, Mara was still standing where Michelle had left her, in the middle of the living room floor. Michelle took the spreader bars and shackles she was holding and used one set to hold her slave’s ankles apart where she was standing and the other pair to chain her wrists to the permanent attachment point they had set in the ceiling.

Walking around to stand in front of Mara, Michelle held up the flogger in front of her eyes. “You want this?” she asked.

Mara nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Michelle smiled and stepped behind her slave.

Michelle started the beating gently, moving her arm to slap the flogger’s tails in slow red X’s across her girlfriend’s back and ass. Then, as she noticed Mara leaning into the strokes, she began slowly ramping up the intensity.

As her muscles warmed up, Michelle started to take more and more pleasure in the beating, watching as Mara would flinch under the fall of the whip before positioning her body to take more. It was, she always found, erotic to see how her slave chose to take pain because Mara knew it pleased her, and she put more and more of her considerable strength behind the strokes until the girl was actually crying out in pain.

Michelle took the beating farther, until Mara began not safe-wording, but begging her to stop. Michelle dropped the whip and came around to stand in front of her slave.

“Thank you, Mistress, thank you. Thank you.” Mara repeated the words over and over under her breath as Michelle unhitched her wrists from the ceiling and let her drape her arms over her neck.

Michelle lifted her chin and kissed the tears from her face.

“Do you still want me to fuck you, little animal?”

Mara nodded vigorously, “Oh yes, Mistress, yes.”

“Then get down on your knees.”

Mara found it difficult to get to the floor with her ankles still held apart by the spreader bar, but the beating had reawakened her ardor and she was once again desperate to get fucked.

Once she was on the ground, her hands stretched out before her, her ankles still held wide apart by the bar, she heard the sound of Michelle’s bare feet on the floor as she walked around her, taking her time.

“Such a beautiful little slave.” Michelle’s voice came from far above her head. “So desperate to be fucked.”

Mara writhed under the sound of the words, then gasped as Michelle knelt down behind her and stroked her fingers over her cunt.

“So wet already from your beating, aren’t you, little slave?” Michelle asked as she gently moved her fingers over Mara’s inner lips.

“Yes, ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Mara ached to feel her Mistress’s hands inside her.

“You liked that whip, didn’t you?” Michelle asked, then Mara felt something firm and rough sliding into her cunt.

“Oh yes, Mistress.” Mara gasped as the object moved slowly deeper inside of her, rubbing against her inner walls.

“You like it even better now, I think,” Michelle said, and Mara finally realized she was being fucked with the braided leather handle that she herself had made that afternoon.

“Yes, ma’am. Yes.” Mara said, loving the feel of the friction from the texture of the whip as her Mistress moved it in and out of her.

“Do you think you can come from the whip?” Michelle asked as she continued to fuck Mara deeply with its handle. “Do you think you can come from it fucking you while you still feel its lashes on your skin?”

“Yes, ma’am, yes!” Mara felt her cunt convulse around the whip in orgasm even as she answered her Mistress’s words.

“Good girl,” Michelle said, pulling the whip from her slave’s body and tossing it aside. “But I don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

Mara felt Michelle come up close behind her and slip three fingers into her body, rubbing her other thumb across her orgasm sensitized clit.

“You’re so wet and open,” Michelle said, continuing to work her fingers in and out of Mara’s body, pulling them apart to stretch her wide before pushing them in deep. “I want to see if I can get my whole hand inside of you.”

Mara moaned at the thought. Michelle had never fisted her while she was tied up and vulnerable like this, and the idea seemed deliciously overwhelming as her Mistress’s fingers kept moving inside of her.

“I already have four fingers in you, slave,” Michelle continued, flicking her thumb once more over Mara’s clit. “Do you want me to make you come again before I go for the rest?”

“No, ma’am, no.” Mara shook her head violently, knowing how much harder it would be for her Mistress to get her hand inside of her once she had orgasmed again.

“Are you sure?” Michelle asked, a smile in her voice as she rubbed Mara’s clit once more.

“Please, Mistress, please,” Mara begged. “Just give me your hand.”

“Well,” Michelle said, “if you insist.” And Mara felt the achingly painful stretch as her Mistress pulled her fingers out, curled her thumb in between them, and pushed her whole hand back into her body.

Mara screamed at the intensity of the invasion, caught on the boundary between pleasure and pain, and felt herself orgasm around her lover’s hand and wrist where they were trapped inside her body. It hurt to have her body convulsing around such a large, firm object and she gasped and begged Michelle to stop as her Mistress reached around her body with her other hand and, with two fingers on her clit, brought her to orgasm again and again.

Finally, when Mara was so overwhelmed by pleasure and pain that she could barely catch her breath, she felt Michelle slowly ease her hand from her body. As her cunt was emptied, she orgasmed one last time, and panted in exhaustion as her lover released her ankles and wrists from their bonds and slowly eased her onto her back.

Michelle lay down beside her and pulled Mara into her arms, hugging her close before slowly dipping her fingers into Mara’s mouth.

The taste of her own fluids on her Mistress’s fingers made Mara moan once again, and she could feel Michelle laughing beneath her.

“Yes, girl,” she said, “you can.”

With permission granted, Mara gently pulled off the lace panties her lover had put on under the dress she had put on as a concession for the formality of the Sabbath, and moved her head between her Mistress’s legs.

She loved the way Michelle tasted of salt, sweat, and arousal as she stroked her with her tongue. Mara gently teased her Mistress’s clit the way she knew Michelle enjoyed before moving lower to push her tongue inside her slender body and gently nibble the edges of her inner lips. Suddenly, she felt Michelle’s hands on her head, pulling her to her clit so tightly that she could barely breathe. Mara licked and sucked on the tender bud, dizzy with lust and lack of air, until she felt Michelle’s entire body tense beneath her and let go.

When Michelle’s hands released the pressure on her hair, Mara crawled up along her body to lie once again in her Mistress’s arms.

“Gut Shabbes, my love,” she said.

Michelle kissed her on the forehead before snuggling her close. “You really do bring the light into my life.”

The Taming of Ms. Lucy

by Louisa Bacio

Lucy had seen enough in her life and as headmistress at the premier San Francisco Sex University to consider herself a good judge of character. She knew when a person truly feared something, and when they’d rather relish giving up control and diving into the phobia. Sometimes fear was merely another word for fantasy. What a person was really afraid of was her personal reaction to the situation and, simply, the unknown.

When she and the university took on a student, they did all the necessary vetting: Was the person applying for personal reasons, or some ulterior motive? Anyone with a hidden dark intent quickly received a rejection notice. Ms. Lucy rarely took chances on someone who she thought wouldn’t “make it.” So it was with particular sadness that she saw what had happened to Clarissa Marciano, or Claire, as most others at the school knew her. Claire came to the school at the urging of her fiancé, and she entered the S&M sequence. A soft-spoken young woman from a privileged Italian family, Claire had spent most of her life isolated and protected. Her first sexual experience had been with an older woman, one who took her same-sex virginity, then discarded her, leaving her sleeping on sheets spotted with the blood from her hymen. The situation might be all too familiar with heterosexual first-time sexual encounters, but the callousness of the woman left Claire even more devastated. So much, in fact, that she questioned her own sexuality, and her next partner, Mario, was a dominant male, one her family approved of. Now Claire was going to marry him.

Pacing the marble hallway in her personal quarters, Lucy ignored the sharp clips of her heels on the tiles as she contemplated the choices that lay before her. If anyone had seen her, with her red curls streaming about her face, they would be taken aback by the lack of control in her eyes. She knew she looked like a woman on a mission, and possessed.

The story touched Ms. Lucy in a way that she hadn’t encountered in a long time. Her own upbringing was very similar to that of Claire’s. When she left New York for California, she never looked back at her choices, or her past.

During her stay at SFSU, Ms. Lucy hoped Claire would come into her own and find her true path. Instead, she’d been beaten down by the very system that was supposed to rebuild her. Many students initially “failed” the S&M sequence. Few passed through completely unscathed. That step was part of the process. Those who faltered and went into another program were never meant to be there. Others got upset, but then that emotion turned to anger. Before Claire had been able to prove herself to others and, more importantly, herself, she’d been ripped from the school and held against her will. Claire certainly wasn’t a failure; she just hadn’t been given the chance to succeed. Now, before she could get there, she wanted to flee back home.

Only one student had willingly decided to stay on at the university, and that was the promising Amanda. If Amanda stayed on track, Lucy predicted a bright and pleasure-filled future for her. The others who had decided to return home seemed like they would do well. With the strength of her brother Reed, the wispy Willow would heal from the experience, and most likely come out stronger. Out of all of the students, Ms. Lucy most worried about Claire.

Ms. Lucy hoped to fix what was broken in Claire, and hopefully stop that wedding from happening. Otherwise, she thought, Claire would never be happy.

As she reached the end of her hallway, Lucy hesitated outside a closed door. Hand raised to knock, she instead used it to push back her errant curls, and turned around to make another lap. She was forty-one years old, and headmistress at one of the most esteemed sex schools in the nation, let alone the world. She willed herself to get back in control of her emotions, and face the decisions that lay beyond that door. She took a deep breath and headed back, not pausing to knock, but opening it and stepping inside.

Cowering in the corner of the red velvet couch, clad in a gray sweatshirt and baggy black sweatpants, Claire looked up. Tears streaked down her face. At the sight of Ms. Lucy, her eyes widened.

“Is it time for me to go home yet?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Ms. Lucy wondered what had happened to the budding self-confidence she had seen developing in the beaten young woman in front of her. In order to get her back on track, she’d have to be firm. Claire might not have a choice in her immediate future, but Ms. Lucy wasn’t going to allow her to see that.

“I don’t think so,” Ms. Lucy replied. “You signed a contract to finish out the program here, and I’d very much like you to consider staying.”

She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Claire’s face crumpled further, and she pulled her knees tight against her chest. Her pale, bare toes stuck out from the dark sweatpants, and she unconsciously pulled the extra long material over her feet in comfort.

“But I said I wanted to go home. You said I could go home,” she whined.

Lucy’s heart went out to the girl, and she moved to sit next to her on the sofa. She wrapped her arms around Claire’s slight form, tucking Claire’s head beneath her chin and against her chest. Claire’s body shivered in her embrace. She smelled clean and fresh, like a spring meadow full of just-blooming wildflowers.

“I know what I said, but I think it would be better for you if you stayed on,” Lucy explained.

“I don’t think I could face them again, the other students. They know what happened to me, and I’m such a failure. I just need to go home, and Mario and my family will take care of me.”

“You’re no such thing, and you have to stop thinking like that about yourself. You don’t want to go home like this. What would your family say? What would Mario say?”

Ms. Lucy hated putting the situation to Claire like that, but really, what choice did she have? She wouldn’t do what the others had done, and keep her there against her will. Claire had to make the choice.

“And you don’t need to go back to the dorms,” Lucy said, coming up with the idea on the spot. “Instead you can stay here with me, in my private quarters, and I’ll help tutor you.”

“Really?” Claire asked, a bit of surprise in her voice. “You would do that?”

“Of course I would do that. You’re a bright, gorgeous woman. Now we just have to make you see that.”

Momentarily, Ms. Lucy wondered what she was doing. It had been a long time since she had let anyone stay at her home, and it was even longer since she’d let someone into her heart. In such a short amount of time, somehow Claire had done both.

“Now, let me show you the guest room, and see if I have anything less unsightly to wear,” she said. “You know I abhor gray and sweats.”

With the lightest of laughs, Claire agreed and let herself be helped up. As Ms. Lucy took the woman’s hand in hers, she felt a tingle of energy pass between them. Claire tightened her grip more and met her gaze straight on. Ms. Lucy had a feeling that it wouldn’t take long for Claire to find the strength she possessed.

* * * *

The room Ms. Lucy took her to outdid any dream room Claire could imagine. Plush white carpeting cushioned her feet as she took one step inside. The walls were painted a rich crème color on top, with a striped cornflower blue and crème wallpaper below, beneath a blue border circling the room. A huge bay window with pillowed seating looked out upon the expanse of the SFSU. With all that, Claire’s eyes kept going back to the centerpiece of the room: a canopy bed with a billowing off-white valiance and a brilliant blue satin bedspread. Lush pillows created an inviting oasis that she longed to dive into.

Claire looked back at Ms. Lucy. In her stark black bustier and leather miniskirt, Ms. Lucy looked the exact opposite of the ultra-feminine décor of the room. Perhaps there was more to Ms. Lucy than she let people see. Then Claire wondered: if this was the guest room, what did Ms. Lucy’s personal bedroom look like?

“Go on in.” Ms. Lucy shooed her forward with a sweep of her hands. “Hopefully, you’ll feel comfortable here.”

“It’s beautiful, and the colors are so soothing,” she said.

As if pleased with Claire’s response, Ms. Lucy strode forward to the dresser. “Now let’s see. I keep a variety of sizes in here just in case I have unprepared guests,” she said, sliding open the top drawer.

Forced to describe her usual style, Claire would say, “Whatever works.” She rarely bought designer and more often went for comfort. While at the school, she’d been experimenting with the clothes she had been supplied. Looking at the dress that Ms. Lucy was holding out, though, she’d seriously started to question whomever did the shopping for the guest quarters.

First of all, it was tiny. Sure, it was probably made of stretchy material, but how tight was it going to be? Then there was the deep violet color. Definitely attention-grabbing. Maybe too much for her. She preferred to blend in with the scenery, not stand in contrast with it.

“Where’s the rest of it?” she asked.

What was the plunging neckline? Claire took a look at her own flat chest and wondered how she was going to fill it out.

Ms. Lucy laughed and Claire realized how much she liked the sound of it. Now that she was thinking about it, she hadn’t heard the headmistress laugh, ever.

“Come on, it’s just us here tonight,” Ms. Lucy soothed. “Try it on.”

She tossed the dress, if one could really call the scrap of material that, to her. Claire held it up against her body with the V-neck in front, pulling the sleek material over her bulky sweats.

“That’s the back,” Ms. Lucy explained. “Here, let me help you.”

As Ms. Lucy drew closer, Claire’s mind raced. The entire time she’d been at the school, she’d really thought of Ms. Lucy as an instructor. Sure, she was attractive and possessed a commanding presence, but something about the way the headmistress was looking at her reminded Claire that Ms. Lucy was a woman, a sexy one.

Claire flashed upon her first love and heartbreak, Muriel. Since that night, she had appreciated the sight of a beautiful woman, but she’d shied away from getting involved with someone else. She’d known Mario since they were kids, and their parents always joked that they would get married. Being with Mario was easy, and she tended to like things simple.

“Lift your arms,” Ms. Lucy commanded.

As if by themselves, Claire felt her arms lift above her head. Ms. Lucy grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt and lifted it up and over her head. Underneath, she wasn’t wearing a bra. From more excitement than chilliness, her pale pink nipples hardened into small pebbles.

Ms. Lucy, who stood a good six inches taller than her, looked down at her chest as if mesmerized by her nudity. Claire held her breath, waiting to see Ms. Lucy’s response. As the instructor’s eyes met her own, Claire felt something electric shift in the air, and Ms. Lucy licked her full lips.

For some reason, seeing Claire’s slender nude form shocked Lucy. She wasn’t expecting bare skin beneath the sweats. Over the years, Lucy had schooled some coeds between the sheets, and others had been forced to pleasure her. She’d never classify any of them as lovers—more like bed partners.

The underlying strength beneath Claire’s external fragile character intrigued Lucy. Even if the girl often lacked self-confidence, Lucy knew she had much more potential. She pulled the slinky dress over Claire’s head, and admired the way the material sheathed her thin body. Tempted to remove the item and take in Claire’s nude body again, Lucy pushed the thoughts away.

“It’s getting late,” she said instead. “Let’s have a quick bite to eat, and then you’d better get some rest.”

* * * *

Claire woke in the dark room. Her fear coursed through her body. She knew instantly that she was no longer there, locked in that room, but still she couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of dread that she felt. She turned on the light and tried taking a deep breath in order to calm herself down. Unfortunately, there was only one thing she desired: not to be alone. And she knew that wish could quickly be solved.

As she pushed off the covers, she looked down at the sheer blue teddy she’d chosen to sleep in—a perfect match to the room—and thought briefly about changing into something else. Elsewhere in the house a noise creaked, and that settled it: Claire went straight to Ms. Lucy’s room.

Fortunately, the path from her room to Ms. Lucy’s chambers was short. Ms. Lucy slept with her door partly open, and Claire slipped in without making any noise. In the shadows of the room, she could make out Ms. Lucy’s sleeping form on the opposite side of the bed.

“Whatever you need,” Ms. Lucy had told her before heading to bed, “I’m here for you.”

As she gently pulled back the covers and crawled into the headmistress’s bed, she certainly hoped she had meant those words. Right now, what she needed most of all was the comfort of another’s body.

****

Coming to a light wakefulness, Lucy first became aware of the warmth of a body next to hers, then felt the soft skin against her back. One leg tucked ever-so-suggestively between hers.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” A whisper danced in her ear, sending shivers of pleasure down her neck.

She’d just been dreaming of the Italian nymph, and here she was cuddled in her bed. Was she still dreaming? “Claire? Is that you?”

“Were you expecting another woman to climb into bed with you?” Claire teased.

“What are you doing here?” Lucy asked, though she certainly didn’t mind the awakening that she felt flowing through her body.

“Bad dreams. I needed someone. I needed to forget. And, I needed you.”

A delicate hand slipped over her side and tucked under her full breasts, as Claire snuggled closer under the blankets. “Do you mind?” she asked.

Lucy felt her voice stick in her throat. For someone always so self-assured, she felt not in control at the moment. Maybe it was because Claire had caught her in a weak moment, asleep and unaware.

“Nooo,” she barely got out.

“Good, because I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

Claire’s light fingers brushed against her nipples as she kissed the back of Lucy’s neck. With each long lash of Claire’s tongue, Lucy moaned. At the vocal encouragement, Claire twisted one nipple between her thumb and fingers, rolling it along the soft pads. At the same time, she bit down on the back of Lucy’s shoulder, sucking the sensitive spot. She rubbed her pelvis against Lucy’s ass.

“Like that, do you, headmistress?”

“Oh, yes,” Lucy said. She turned her head, catching Claire’s mouth with hers. Their hungry tongues mingled, searched, getting to know the rhythm and taste of each other. Claire tasted sweet, as if she’d been eating licorice before falling asleep.

The knee between Lucy’s legs pressed up, splaying her legs further apart. Claire reached down and petted her on the outside of her panties. “What color?” she asked.

“What?”

“What color is your underwear tonight?”

“Pale pink.”

Lucy could literally feel Claire’s fingers hovering over her private area, as if she was processing the information she had just provided. Yes, she might wear black leather and lace at almost all times on the outside; that simply was part of her persona, her dress code. Underneath it all, she often chose to go frilly.

“Not exactly what I suspected,” Claire said, “but I like. I’ll have to see you in them later.”

Lucy wasn’t quite sure where Claire was getting her strength from at the moment, but the woman in bed with her was drastically different than the one she had seen in her waiting area earlier this evening. Damn, she was different than the one that had been walking around campus like the undead this session. She possessed no fire. Now—

“Whoa, hold on,” Lucy said, as Claire sunk two fingers under the waistband of her underwear and found that slick sensitive spot between her legs.

“What’s the plan here?” she asked, trying to regain some semblance of control. Did she want to make love with Claire? Would she be taking advantage of her? Lucy was the older woman. She was the authority figure. Yet it seemed Claire held the proverbial reigns.

“When’s the last time you were spanked, Ms. Lucy?” Claire asked, with an growing excitement in her voice.

As Lucy thought about the question, the wetness between her legs increased. In truth, it had been a long, long time since she had relinquished absolute control.

****

As Ms. Lucy went stiff in her arms and started stammering, Claire’s desire flared up further. Something told her it was time for the teacher to learn a lesson.

Without waiting for the headmistress to respond, Claire grabbed a few pillows from the top of the bed and positioned them beneath Ms. Lucy’s hips. In the darkness, she ran her hand along the arched curve of Ms. Lucy’s ass. If she was going to do this right, she needed some light to see. She took a guess and reached over to the bedside lamp next to her side, and switched on the light. A warm rose-tinted light infused the room, and she absorbed the deep mauve and amber-toned color scheme, creating a rich and inviting atmosphere.

Turning back to her mission, Claire took in the sight before her. Ms. Lucy had not dared move from her raised position. Her muscular ass raised higher than her head, and a deep blush complemented Ms. Lucy’s complexion. Her lush waves of red hair cascaded over the light mauve sheets, and Claire couldn’t imagine a sight more delicate and attractive. Her pulse quickened with an attraction she’d never felt with her fiancé Mario. This beauty. This dominance. That’s what she truly craved. Not a man, or family that dictated her own desires.

She slid back over the silky covers, and slipped her fingers beneath the corners of Ms. Lucy’s light pink underwear—such a contrast to the woman’s strong outside persona—and pulled them over and off.

“First of all, these need to go,” she said.

Slipping a hand beneath her captive, she felt the woman’s arousal. “So wet. Is this for me?”

When Ms. Lucy did not respond, Claire brought an open hand down on her ass. A loud smack broke the silence of the room, and Ms. Lucy bucked against the pillows.

“When I ask you a question, you will answer me,” she said, punctuating her statement with another smack. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” she said, continuing with the etiquette spanking lesson.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Claire set the stage for what was to come. That evening, Ms. Lucy was going to learn a lesson she soon wouldn’t forget.

“Good. Now, are you in charge of the safety and well being of the students at San Francisco Sex University?”

“Yes.”

“Would you say you were negligent with my safety, and that of others, which resulted in our kidnapping?”

With her hand against Ms. Lucy’s skin, she could just about feel the hesitation before the woman answered. Claire wondered what the head mistress was thinking.

“Yes, I was,” she admitted.

“And for your actions, or inactions, would you agree that you need to be punished?” Claire continued.

“Yes, ma’am.”

That was all Claire needed before setting off on a spanking spree. In her S&M classes, they had studied the fine art of a bare-hand spanking. The key was a few quick succession smacks in one spot, bringing an almost instant redness to Ms. Lucy’s fine skin, then switching to the other side. She targeted her efforts to the plump little curve and could only imagine Ms. Lucy sitting the next day, remembering the events of the previous night.

With each spanking, Ms. Lucy’s pelvic area ground into pillows beneath her, and soon they were both breathing heavily. Claire sensed Ms. Lucy’s growing abandonment as she lost herself in the feeling.

Claire stopped the spanking and rubbed her hand along the edge of Ms. Lucy’s ass, feeling the enticing heat.

“Now, I don’t want to hear you coming before I give you permission. Do you hear me?” Claire asked, taking the role of the dominant even further.

Ms. Lucy simply whimpered her understanding.

“For some reason, I have the feeling you might have a few toys in here. Where are they?”

Ms. Lucy’s eyes went to the drawer of her nightstand. Inside, Claire found a treasure trove of vibrators, lubricants, a few spanking tools, and some dildos. “Quite an assortment you have here,” she said. “This is kind of what I was hoping for.”

She held up a double-headed dildo, one that she could slide into herself, then allow her to royally fuck Lucy. Claire had never actually used one of the devices, but the concept alone excited her. Tonight, she fully understood what it meant and felt like to be in control. It was a lesson that the S&M instructors tried to drill into her, and finally she got it.

Although they were both plenty wet, Claire reached back in the drawer for some lubricant. The K-Y Warming solution probably would add a nice touch, she thought, rubbing it over her end of the dildo.

She slowly inserted the dildo into her own pussy, relishing the feeling of fullness, and the power she felt with the light purple fem-cock jutting out from between her legs.

“Next time I might fuck you from behind,” she said, climbing back onto the bed, “but tonight I want to see you come face to face.”

Claire removed the pillows from beneath Lucy’s hips, then rolled her onto her back. Lucy’s face felt flushed from the excitement. As her sore ass rubbed against the sheets, she moaned. She opened her eyes and drank in the stance of Claire kneeling above her. She looked so confident and sure of herself. Her eyes shone bright with strength and passion. Her blond hair hung in a disheveled mess from her previous exertions. Lucy realized she could very well love the young woman. She longed to suck on the nubs of her breasts, but Claire was running this show.

“I’d like you to suck my cock. Get it good and wet before I fuck you,” Claire ordered. She moved closer to Lucy’s mouth, nudging her lips with the dildo. Lucy opened her mouth, taking in the plastic until her lips barely touched Claire’s sex. She could smell her arousal, and Lucy longed to instead be licking Claire’s pussy. Lucy pulled back and licked up the side of the dildo, juicing up the synthetic cock. When she reached the base where it entered Claire, Lucy flicked her tongue up and over, targeting the younger woman’s clit. She found the succulent button and puckered her lips around it, and flicked her tongue quickly over the hard pebble.

As Claire reached down, winding her hands through Lucy’s hair, and holding her steady, Lucy smiled internally. Past the point of being turned on, the woman bucked beneath the ministrations of her mouth. Not ready to relinquish her control quite yet, Claire retreated, bringing Lucy’s head up to her level and kissing her deeply.

Claire then maneuvered Lucy back, bringing up one of Lucy’s knees, and positioned the dildo at the opening of her pussy. “Are you ready for me?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” Lucy replied. As the woman pushed her faux-cock inside of her, she sighed at the pleasant fullness. Each penetrated, their bodies met in the middle. Claire began to grind her own pelvis against Lucy’s, clit against clit. The dildo wasn’t firm enough to thrust into each other. Instead, the soft, pliant material supplied the feeling of being stretched open and added to the sexual pressure as the rhythm increased.

The fervor of their kisses increased, and Lucy quickly felt her own orgasm coming on. She’d held it off for so long, she didn’t think she could last much longer. Claire’s own cries had increased, then Lucy felt her stiffen within her embrace. To push Claire’s release even further, Lucy grabbed onto the woman’s ass and thrust up. That final moment sent her over the edge, too, and her climax rocked her body and freed her mind. Each of their movements continued to send the other aftershocks of pleasure, until they both lay still and sated.

Claire pulled off Lucy and slowly drew the dildo out of her own body. Then she settled behind Lucy and turned off the light. The warmth of Claire’s body pressed up against her back.

With a self-satisfied sigh, Claire said, “From now on, I think I’ll be sleeping with you.”

Ms. Lucy relaxed into the young woman’s arms.

Breakfast at Jackie’s

by J.V. Altharas

It was four in the morning when Amber rushed into the office to meet Jackie for their Monday ritual. Punishment for being late would be a disappointing way to begin the week. Office relationships were always complicated, and this was an order of magnitude more so than usual. She had slept with her bosses before, and had subbed to one of her professors in college, but she had never worked for someone who was also her mistress.

It had all begun with her job interview three months earlier, and the fact that both she and Jackie were just slutty enough to have fun when they were single. To call it a whirlwind would be an understatement.

As a thirty-three-year-old executive vice president at a Fortune 500 company, Jackie’s life was complex and demanding. She was brilliant and driven, but couldn’t possibly give one hundred and ten percent while managing her own chaos. Luckily for her, that was Amber’s specialty: managing schedules, keeping time-wasters at bay, and generally greasing all the wheels. Jackie demanded complete obedience, but Amber had always been at her best with someone providing structure, along with an endless supply of orgasms.

Amber remembered every moment of the interview that had turned into a first date, from Jackie’s coy questions to ending up on her knees with a face full of her new boss. She had been expertly seduced, but had gone along completely willingly.

Now they were at a crossroads, and Amber really didn’t know what to do. Her roommate’s lover was moving in, and the apartment wasn’t big enough for the three of them. She needed a place to stay, but with the hours she worked she dreaded having to move. A couple of days earlier Jackie had offered to help her find a new place, but that really wasn’t what she wanted.

For all the fun and great sex, they usually slept in different places. Being madly in love and still waking up alone most mornings was getting old, and Amber wanted her mistress to accept how completely devoted she was. The elevator seemed to take forever getting to the fiftieth floor.

Jackie sat at her desk, returning e-mails and looking out at the city. She opened a drawer and eyed a key to her condo, which sat next to a small remote. The remote would be part of Amber’s reward the first time she succeeded in her Monday-morning task, but the key was something Jackie had placed with it when Amber mentioned moving, just so she would have it to look at and ponder.

When Jackie was at a philosophical impasse she liked to invent a test and let fate sort it out. Amber seemed to be everything she wanted in a partner, but it became harder to snap back after a long string of disappointments. Her slave needed a place to live, but Jackie didn’t know if she could let someone so completely into her personal space again. Still, Amber worked hard at being the best slave she could, in bed and out, and focused under pressure instead of cracking.

With Amber needing a place to live, Jackie decided fate was telling her something. This slave was the first person who ever seemed to completely fit with her, and it was time to offer her the entire lifestyle.

Rushing out of the elevator, Amber joined Jackie in her office. It was Monday morning, and they came in early enough to start the week with breakfast together, as only Jackie would devise. Amber got to choose what they had for breakfast, and she got to lick hers off of her mistress. Today she’d picked éclairs.

Amber set down their coffees and pastries, then locked the door behind her. They usually had about an hour before anyone else arrived, leaving plenty of time for some fun. She asked, “May I prepare for breakfast, Madame?”

“Yes, slave,” Jackie replied, picking up her coffee and leaning back to watch. “Remind me why I spend so much time fucking you.” She desperately loved beginning every week watching this hot young thing do a slow strip before going down on her. It was almost enough to make her look forward to Monday. Amber was both the best assistant and the best submissive she’d ever had, and so naturally obedient that she took pleasure from all manners of service. Discipline and ritual kept her focused and compliant, exactly what Jackie demanded.

Amber was learning how to dance, and they had spent several late nights in strip clubs while she studied the art. There was one dancer in particular they both wanted, but the relationship was too new to bring in other people. Amber would happily fuck anything and anyone if her mistress commanded, but Jackie wasn’t nearly ready to share. The slave slowly removed her jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair with a playful wiggle of her ass. She closed her eyes, unbuttoning her blouse to reveal a white lace bra, swaying to music only she could hear.

Jackie sipped her coffee, absentmindedly toying with her own nipple and feeling herself getting wet. She was falling crazy stupid in love with Amber, and it was torture to hold herself back emotionally. She wouldn’t chance a broken heart until she was sure Amber wouldn’t end up running screaming from the stress of fourteen-hour days, which had happened with far too many of her predecessors. Still, Amber simply excelled under pressure. Perhaps it was time after all.

Once her blouse was a memory, Amber turned away and unzipped her skirt. Madame was particularly fond of her ass, a fact of which the slave was eminently proud. Holding her hair up and arching her back, she wiggled her hips until the skirt slid to the floor, revealing the matching lace thong. She bent down, floating her fingers up her inner thighs and asking, “May I please touch myself, Madame?”

“Only through your panties, slave,” came the reply.

Amber whimpered, then began slowly working her clit through the silken crotch of her thong. She knew she would not be allowed to stop until Madame saw a wet spot, but as usual, that wouldn’t take long. The slave had never felt so completely content as she did under Jackie’s firm hand, feeling she’d finally found a successful woman who could appreciate a devoted slave girl.

Amber panted softly, finally feeling dampness through the thong, asking, “Is Madame pleased with what she sees?”

“Hands on your ankles,” Jackie commanded. The slave complied, and Jackie leaned across the desk. She took a sip of coffee as her thumb found the wet spot. Amber whimpered at the momentary contact. “Kneel in service,” Jackie said, tasting her thumb with a smile. Madame turned the large chair to the side and threw her legs over the arms, revealing that she wore nothing but her blouse, bra and heels. Amber sank to her knees and crawled around the desk as Jackie picked up one of the two éclairs, squeezing a bit of the filling onto her finger.

Amber watched Jackie slowly cover her pussy with Bavarian cream, taking time to be sure her clit was completely hidden. Watching Jackie’s hand at work just intensified Amber’s longing. The slave asked, “May I please have my breakfast, Madame?”

“You may,” Jackie replied, “if you ask like a good little slut.”

“May I please lick your pussy, Madame?” Amber pleaded.

“You may, slut.”

Jackie shivered at the touch of Amber’s nails on her thighs, picking up her coffee and the other éclair. Amber’s task was to get her off before she finished them. She hadn’t succeeded yet, but the fun was in the attempt. Her expert tongue teased Jackie’s lips, barely parting them to graze the tender flesh beneath. The scent of the cream filled her nostrils as she lapped it up, one tiny flick at a time. Amber truly loved Madame’s flavor, mixed with anything.

Jackie’s legs tensed as Amber’s tongue found her clit, squirming in the chair and taking another bite. The éclair was half gone. Amber needed to step things up a notch. She slipped her middle finger deep into her mistress, massaging her g-spot with the smooth back of her nail, sucking her clit, flicking it softly against her teeth. Jackie stifled a moan with a long drink of coffee.

Amber could see her rushing and sensed victory. She slipped in a second finger, twisting them while her tongue flashed over Madame’s swollen mound. Jackie reflexively bucked her hips, grinding into Amber’s face, and soft, rapid whimpers escaped her lips.

Then Jackie let out a piercing scream, writhing in her chair, no longer able to hold back the climax. Seconds later Amber felt a splash when the coffee cup and éclair hit the floor. She’d finally won, and barely suppressed the urge to giggle in triumph. Madame was too sensitive to touch just then, but her slave’s gentle breath sent her over the edge one more time. Amber knelt before her, caressing her thighs, patiently waiting for her owner’s convulsions to fade.

When Jackie stirred she saw a look of triumphant glee in Amber’s eyes. Jackie leaned forward and pulled Amber to her breast, holding her tight and planting a kiss on top of her head, drinking in the scent of her hair. “I won,” the slave said with pride.

“You certainly did,” said Jackie. “You’ve been a very good girl, and I have a reward for you.”

Amber pulled back, her eyes alight, saying, “My reward is to serve you, Madame. Each day I try to find a new way to please you.” In truth, the look of adoration in Jackie’s eyes was all the reward she needed. Their lips met, and the women devoured each other. The sweet taste of Bavarian cream was still on Amber’s lips, and for a long moment they melted together in silent bliss.

Jackie stroked her slave’s hair and asked, “Have I told you today that I love you?”

“No, Madame,” said Amber, “but your slave knows you love her. And she loves you.”

“Rise,” Jackie commanded, standing to join Amber. With a handful of hair, she slowly bent the slave over on the desk. Once she was firmly in place Madame asked, “What is my schedule today?”

Without hesitation Amber recited, “Conference calls at seven and eight, a board meeting at nine, lunch with Rogers downtown before coming back here to go over the slicks for the new ad campaign with Callahan. You’ll hate the slicks, so I told him you only have ten minutes.”

Jackie shook her head in wonder. Amber was indeed the perfect assistant. She said, “That’s what I thought. I’m going to be gone half the day. Will you miss me, slave?”

“You know I will, Madame,” she replied.

Slapping Amber’s ass, Jackie asked, “Would you like a tanned ass to remind you of me while I’m gone?”

“Always, Madame,” Amber said with a squirm. The slave was a true pain slut, a refreshing change for Jackie after years of corrupted vanilla girls.

Jackie released Amber’s hair and pulled her now-sopping thong down over her hips, saying, “You were a very good girl this morning, slave. As a reward, I have a new toy for us to play with.” Reaching into a drawer she retrieved a remote-controlled vibrating egg. Without letting Amber see it Madame began slipping it inside the slave, twisting the egg to lube it with Amber’s own juices.

Amber thought it was a dildo, and was surprised when she felt it slip all the way in, pressing up against her g-spot. She jumped a second later, sighing and squirming on the desk, when a click of the remote started it vibrating. Jackie pulled her thong back up, then pressed the flat of her hand into the slave’s pussy. The compression made the egg’s vibrations resonate, and Amber was soon moaning in pleasure.

Leaving the egg turned on, Madame grabbed Amber’s hair again, pulling her head up off the desk. Her free hand came down hard on Amber’s ass, rocking her whole body forward. Again, and again, Jackie built speed and cadence. Each slap hurt a bit more, tugging at skin sticking to the lacquered wood, pulling on her scalp.

The constant stimulation of her g-spot was driving Amber insane. Once the slave’s ass was well reddened, Jackie stopped to inspect, gently tracing paths on the raw flesh with her nails while cool breath teased it. Amber drank in the pain, slipping part way off into subspace.

“How does that ass feel, slave?” Jackie asked.

“Wonderful, Madame,” came the plaintive reply.

“What are you?” Jackie demanded, giving each cheek a quick slap.

“Your slut, Madame, to do with as you please.”

“Good girl,” Jackie praised, stroking the fiery flesh of Amber’s backside, then pinching her inner thigh. “Would my little slut like some more?”

“Always, Madame,” Amber squealed. The egg hummed along, and the slave slipped off farther into subspace.

Jackie resumed spanking her, quickly finding a fast, hard rhythm. Soon each blow came with a cry from the slave, the little moans telling Madame that her property was ripe for a climax. Three more hard slaps to each cheek and Jackie was satisfied they’d be sore for the rest of the day—a perfect reminder of an absent mistress.

Finally Amber couldn’t wait any longer. “Please, Madame, let me come. Your slave’s pussy needs you.” Amber truly enjoyed begging for what she wanted, and it showed in her style. No sane woman could resist a request like that, unless she was teaching a lesson. Jackie’s fingers quickly found the slave’s clit through the sopping thong, rolling it between them while Amber’s moans intensified. Jackie waited eagerly for the adorable, high-pitched squeal that would come with Amber’s climax.

Amber wrapped her hands around the edge of the desk, muscles tensing as the pressure built inside her. The egg made Madame’s fingers feel like vibrators, perfectly skilled in working her flesh. Once Amber was close Jackie began spanking her pussy, smiling at the sound of her hand on wet silk, the slaps less than a second apart. She listened for the telltale intake of breath.

She heard it, yanking hard on the slave’s hair and squeezing her clit, whispering, “Come for your mistress, slut.” Amber screamed, overwhelmed by the first wave of climax. Madame kept hold on her clit through the fabric, squeezing hard every few seconds, using the pain to intensify the pleasure to dizzying heights. Jackie softly laid Amber’s head down on the desk, letting her enjoy the afterglow, running her nails slowly over the slave’s exposed flesh, covering her reddened ass with gentle kisses. Amber sighed in absolute contentment, wishing she could spend the whole day right there on the desk. The slave whined when the toy’s humming stopped.

A gentle tug on her hair told Amber it was time to get up, but she was surprised Madame had not removed the egg. Jackie was behind her as she stood, remote in one hand, to wrap her arms around her slave. A click of the remote had the egg buzzing again, leaving Amber feeling weak in the knees.

Jackie whispered, “That toy’s going to stay inside you all day, and you may masturbate whenever you like while I’m gone.” The humming stopped again and Amber whined, realizing this toy was one more way for Madame to keep her constantly horny. As if she needed help in that department.

“Only while you’re gone?” Amber hinted.

“Yes,” Jackie said sternly. “While we’re together you’ll ask permission, as usual.”

“Yes, Madame,” Amber replied. Looking at the time, she said, “I really should clean up your coffee and get dressed. It’s getting close to five.” Amber was always thinking first of her duties, one of many reasons that Jackie had fallen so hard for her. Amber had passed every test Jackie had been able to imagine, and it was time for a leap of faith.

Jackie said, “Don’t worry about the coffee for now. You’ll be on your knees cleaning that up tonight, before we go home to clear you some closet space.”

Amber cocked her head, asking, “Really? I mean, really, Madame?”

Jackie leaned down to plant a kiss squarely between Amber’s breasts, tracing a path with her lips up to her ear. She whispered, “Are you ready to be my bitch twenty-four seven?”

Amber nodded, feeling as if her life was falling into place. Jackie retrieved a key from her drawer, tucking it into Amber’s bra. The cold metal made her jump, then she leaned on the desk for support when the egg started humming again. Madame would torment her all day with that, and she had never felt so owned. She pulled Jackie close, letting her feel the vibrations that were resonating through her body.

Amber quietly said, “I love you, Madame.”

“And I love you, slave,” Jackie replied. Madame held her for another moment before patting her ass and saying, “Now, playtime’s over. Time to get us both presentable and get to work.” They dressed each other as they did every week, finishing Monday’s ritual with a symphony of gentle caresses.

Amber was in the office for the conference calls later, taking notes while Jackie eye-fucked her from across the desk. Amber was unable to find any way to sit that didn’t make her ass feel on fire. This, of course, was the entire point—with Jackie randomly clicking the remote to her delight. Amber went out to her desk to return some calls, leaving Jackie a few minutes to get ready for her board meeting.

As required, Amber had Jackie’s portfolio and files for the meeting sitting on the corner of her desk, easy to grab on the fly and meticulously prepared. Jackie breezed past her, rushing as always, and snatched the stack off the desk. Not slowing down, she tossed something in its place; something wrapped in stationery.

Opening the small package, Amber found the remote to the egg, with a note saying: Enjoy yourself while I’m gone. I love you. Amber looked up just in time to see Jackie flashing a smile over her shoulder as she boarded the elevator. The instant the doors closed, Amber was locking Jackie’s door from the inside. Leaning back in Madame’s chair, she hiked up her skirt and clicked the remote. She did have permission, after all.

Enforcement

by Dorla Moorehouse

Ricarda Eposita was a nationally known fugitive who had committed heists all over the country, and she loved her vocation too much to give it up, no matter what the risks. While she’d made a name for herself by robbing banks in New York and casinos in Vegas, Dallas had been her hometown, and she always committed at least one good heist here a year. She was the kind of mastermind typically only seen in movies.

We met back in high school, when she was just a petty thief stealing earrings from department stores at the mall, and I was still a few years away from joining the police force. We outed ourselves to each other reluctantly, knowing how dangerous it was to trust someone who wasn’t actually an ally; kids in our school were still completely homophobic, and neither of us wanted to endure the kind of harassment we’d be subjected to if the word got out. But we’d also sensed kindred spirits in each other, and therefore took the risk of trust. Fortunately, it paid off. Just a few days later, we shared our first kiss, and a few hours later, we were having sex.

I still remember that very first time. How I felt when I undressed her, saw her breasts peering out over the cups of her bra, then when I unhooked the clasp, how soft and perfect they were, heavy in my hands. How much wetter I became when I pulled off her skirt and panties, parted her legs, and tasted her. Sweet, hot, and salty at the same time. The excitement when I found her clit with my tongue, her g-spot with my finger. How I’d flicked them in unison, made tight circles, faster and faster, until Ricarda arched her back and shrieked my name. I gazed at her as I licked my fingers off, not wanting to waste a drop of her. Then I stripped, slowly pulling my sweatshirt up over my head, shimmying out of my tank top, gliding out of my jeans. But my panties stayed on; that was her job.

I eased myself onto the bed, beckoning her to come closer. Ricarda didn’t hesitate, and surprised me by taking the elastic of my panties between her teeth to pull them down. Then she dove into me, biting at my cunt lips, gliding her tongue all over my hot folds. She gripped at my hips and slid her tongue between my slit. I bucked my hips, hoping to press further into her and feel even more of her hot mouth. Reaching up to my breasts, Ricarda started to fondle me, pinching my nipples so fiercely they hurt, yet the pain was delicious. She worked my breasts, rubbed and pulled at my clit until all the tension that had been building up inside me exploded, shooting into my veins and out of my skin.

We spent the rest of the afternoon wrapped around each other, until the evening shadows darkened the room and the clock warned me it was time to get dressed and act like a good straight girl, because my parents would be home from work soon.

After high school, I joined the police academy. With no interest in continuing her education, Ricarda got a job at a high-end grocery store. We each had our own apartments. Though we’d discussed the possibility of trying to pass as roommates, we both knew we wouldn’t be able to pull it off. And outing ourselves to our families, friends, and coworkers was certainly not an option. Everyone we knew was conservative, and I was taking enough flack at the academy for being a woman. I couldn’t imagine what they’d do if they found out I was a dyke. So we continued to keep our relationship a secret, putting on the air of being best friends while fucking every night.

One night soon after I graduated from the academy, Ricarda walked into my apartment and grabbed my handcuffs from the coffee table. Twirling them around her finger, she sauntered off toward the bedroom. I followed, eager to see what she had in mind.

Ricarda had already undressed by the time I got there, her bronze body sprawled out on the bed. The cuffs lay in a small pile at her side.

“Guilty conscience?” I joked. I knew all about her little crimes, knew she was still stealing, but desired her too much to want to turn her in or even try to convince her to change her ways.

“My conscience isn’t guilty at all, but I am.”

“Steal another bra from Victoria’s Secret?”

“Actually, do you know the Federal Reserve Bank of Dallas?” Her face lit up in a grin I’d never seen before.

“You mean the bank that got held up this afternoon?”

Ricarda’s grin grew wider.

“It—it was you?” She nodded. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“That the gig would pay better than being a cashier at the grocery store.”

“But…but this isn’t just some cheap shit from the mall. Hell, these aren’t even middle-class savings accounts. We’re talking about the country’s finances here!”

“Well, I’m sure the government would remember to insure its own banks.”

“Ricarda, this is serious. It’s bad enough that you steal little things. I can’t be on a police officer and in a relationship with a bank robber.”

“Because you’d come out of the closet if I was a law-abiding citizen?”

I hung my head. She was right. It wasn’t like our relationship would ever be public, even if Ricarda wasn’t a criminal. Still, my sense of professional ethics would not quit nagging at me; stealing department-store jewelry was one thing, but robbing a bank was a different beast.

“I still feel obliged to turn you in.”

“Or maybe…” She trailed off, eying the handcuffs.

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could just punish me yourself.”

My resolve to be an upstanding officer fell apart, frustration and fear collapsing under the weight of desire. I picked up the cuffs, threaded them through the slats in the headboard, and grabbed her wrists. Ricarda squirmed as I opened the cuffs, so I climbed on top of her.

“Don’t move. You’re not getting out of this one.”

Once her hands were fastened, I stripped down slowly. She groaned as my clothes fell away. Climbing back on top of her hips, I started to touch her, rubbing her earlobes, then stroking her neck, sliding down to play with her breasts. I felt them fill my hands and twisted the nipples, watching her writhe and smack the chain against the wood, vainly attempting to get free.

Done with her breasts, I started to work the insides of her thighs, first massaging with my thumbs, then scratching with my nails, watching her legs twitch uncontrollably. Finally, I gave some attention to her pussy lips, rubbing them with my thumbs, feeling the blood pulse under her skin.

“Please,” Ricarda moaned.

“Please what?”

“Please let me come.”

“Why should I do that? You’re a criminal. You don’t deserve to come.”

“I’m begging you, Officer. Please.”

So I pinched her hard, throbbing clit and Ricarda bucked her hips, eager for more. I took my thumb and made the deep, slow, counterclockwise circles that she loved so much. As I sped up, I heard her breath changing, and knew she was close. I felt her body start to clench, and right before she came, I pulled my hand away.

“Hey! Why would you do that?”

Rather than answering, I climbed higher up on her body, settling my cunt right over her mouth.

“Eat me. Now.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then you stand no chance of being allowed to come.”

Ricarda was so desperate that she didn’t need another order. She thrust her tongue so fast and deep between my slit that I almost fell over. She was messy, ravenous, greedy for the orgasm she hoped she’d get at the end. She slurped, bit me, rubbed her tongue furiously. My juices dripped into her mouth and down her chin. Steadying myself against the headboard with one hand, I brought the other to my breast and made her watch as I fondled myself, caressing the heavy curve and pulling the nipple. One of my pinches synchronized with a bite on my clit, and suddenly I was coming, legs shuddering so hard I could barely stay upright, every muscle sizzling with orgasm.

Once I regained control of my body, I steadied myself, climbed off the bed, and got dressed. Then I picked up my book and sat on the bed next to Ricarda.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“What about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said if I ate you out you would let me come.”

“No, I said if you ate me out there was a chance I would let you come. But I decided not to.”

“That’s not fair!”

“It’s also not fair that a bank was robbed today. And I believe you did say I could punish you rather than turn you in. So, consider yourself punished.”

Ricarda sulked for a bit, then eased back into a smile.

“You know, that was kind of fun.”

“Even though I didn’t let you come?”

“Yeah. I like being cuffed.”

“And I enjoyed cuffing you. But I should probably free you now.” I got out my key and unlocked her.

“We should do this again sometime,” she said, dozing off.

As I took on more responsibilities with the force, I let some distance open up between us. It was hard enough being a closeted dyke, and I was starting to feel uncomfortable being involved with a criminal. After every heist, Ricarda would show up at my apartment ready for punishment, knowing I wouldn’t turn her in or turn her down. If she pulled an out-of-state job, it usually took her a few days to get to me, but sooner or later she was there, ready for whatever I was going to give her. For a while I stuck to handcuffs and what I could do with my own body: making her give me head, masturbating with my fingers while she watched, spanking her with my hands. Then I mixed in ropes, scarves, leather cuffs. I started teasing her with vibrators, fucking myself with dildos. I started punishing her with a paddle, a cane, a flogger. And even though I never gave her an orgasm once in all those years, she loved every minute of it.

While I was often frustrated by my slow advancement on the police force, I comforted myself by realizing my lack of progress meant I had yet to be put on Ricarda’s case. I never had to hunt her down after a robbery, never stake out one of her potential heists, never had to consult with the FBI when she pulled off a crime out of state. But eventually I got transferred, and I got promoted, and it was only a matter of time before Ricarda’s file was placed in my hands. Of course, she’d been evading state and federal authorities for years, so it was easy enough to simply fake my way through the ongoing investigation for a while without actually accomplishing anything, especially because Ricarda only pulled about six jobs a year. But eventually, she was ready to work again, and that meant I had to take an active role in making an arrest. After looting the West End Casino in Dallas, she was at my apartment before I was even done collecting evidence from the crime scene.

“How are you going to punish me tonight, Officer?” she purred, sprawling on the couch, wearing a red evening gown.

I had no patience for her teasing and didn’t want to play.

“Ricarda, you know I’ve been assigned to your file. Why the hell are you here? I should call my backup and have you arrested right now.”

She sat up, startled by my tone. “Yvonne, what the hell has gotten into you?”

“I’ve spent years carrying around this guilty conscience, tormented by the fact that I love a criminal even though I’ve sworn to serve and protect the people of this city. I break that promise every time you’re here. Yet I don’t want to bring you to justice. I can’t carry on like this, especially now that I’m being paid to investigate your case.”

Tears started to peek out of her eyes. “So you want me to quit coming here?”

“More than that. I want you to retire. You have more than enough money to last you the rest of your life. Please escape, go somewhere without an extradition treaty, and just stop.”

“But I love what I do.”

“And you love me too, don’t you? Please don’t put me through the hell of looking bad at my job just to avoid arresting you. I take enough flack at work as it is. And please don’t put me through the hell of bringing you to justice. I hate what you do, but I can’t stand the thought of you going to jail. Quit and escape. For me.”

“Fine. But if I’m going out, I want to go out in style.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“One more job. It doesn’t have to be a big one, but I just need one last heist. Then we’re going to rendezvous in a warehouse somewhere. I want to rough you up a bit, put you in the ropes for once, and then I’ll take off. I don’t want it to look like you let me go. I want it to look like I earned it.”

I sighed, imagining the looks I’d get if the other officers thought I’d been caught and tied up by a criminal. But I’d also do anything to ensure she actually got away.

“Fair enough.” By now, tears were welling up in my eyes too. For all the frustration and anxiety she’d brought me over the years, I loved every minute I had with her. I knew this plan was for the best, that I wouldn’t have been able to keep going, that at least now she’d be safe for good. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t miss her.

“Now,” she cooed, “I believe I still need to be punished.”

As sad and stressed as I felt, I couldn’t resist her.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

I hurried off to the bedroom where I grabbed a bundle of rope and my favorite dildo. When I came back, I found Ricarda standing up, examining the books on my shelf. I charged, pinned her hands behind her back, and tied her wrists together.

“I thought I said don’t move. Now you’re really going to get it.” I pushed her face-first against the bookshelves, reached under her dress, and slid aside her thong, easing two fingers up until they hit her g-spot. Grabbing her breast with my free hand, I worked the nipple with rolls and pinches. Her g-spot swelled as I rubbed and pressed, and I felt the pleasure building in her muscles. Ricarda kept silent, tried not to let me know how much she was enjoying my handiwork, how close she was to orgasm. This was one of her favorite tricks, trying to make me get her off because I couldn’t hear her any shrieks or groans to indicate she was close. But she never learned how to control her breath, and I could always hear how her body felt in the sharp inhales and shallow exhales. And I knew her cunt too well, the way the muscle contractions increased as I worked her body into a frenzy, the surging contraction just before the orgasm broke loose. Richarda never managed to fool me. She tried her best this time, but I felt that g-spot give a tremendous throb and pulled away just in time.

“Please!” she cried. “Please get me off!”

“You know the rules,” I whispered, placing a soft kiss on the back of her neck. “You were a bad girl and now you have to pay. Turn around and face me.”

“No.”

I delivered one spank against the red satin covering her ass.

“I told you to turn around.”

“No.”

I swatted her again. “Now, are you going to do what I say, or am I going to have to make you listen?”

Ricarda didn’t say a word. I could barely hear her breathe.

“Fine.” I delivered one more smack as hard as I could, and her knees buckled slightly. Grabbing her shoulders, I whirled her around, then pushed her to the floor, directly beneath me. Once I had her where I wanted, I undressed quickly, and slid the dildo up into my sopping wet cunt. But though I was desperately horny, I went slow, massaging my own g-spot gingerly, feeling every nerve cry out for more. As the hot button swelled with desperation, I went faster, until my body was trembling so violently I had to brace myself against the wall. I felt the steaming orgasm overwhelm me, and at the last possible second I pulled the dildo out, and my own clear come came spilling out, pouring all over Ricarda. She opened her mouth to catch the spray as it sprinkled her face, her hair, her dress.

“You taste so good, Yvonne. You taste so good that I’m even hornier now. Please make me come.”

I bent down, untied her, helped her to her feet, and escorted her to the door.

“You know the rules,” I repeated, this time kissing her lips. “You break the law, you can’t come.” I watched her walk away until she disappeared into the darkness.

A week later, everything was set up. Ricarda was going to rob the Federal Reserve Bank of Dallas, the site of her first heist, to make herself feel as though she’d come full circle with her career. When I got the call that the bank had been hit, I headed towards the crime scene, calling for backup on the way. But once I put my radio down I veered off course. Once I arrived at the warehouse we’d selected for our rendezvous point, I picked it up again.

“I have the suspect’s car in sight. I’m heading north on South Lamar Street. Requesting backup.” I was of course nowhere near South Lamar Street, but it would throw them off the trail. Before anyone could respond, I shut my radio off, got out of the car, placed it on the pavement, and shot it. I did the same to my cell phone. Next, I shot the GPS device in my vehicle. With no way to contact me and no way to track my car, the officers would have to struggle to find me, giving us plenty of time to stage the getaway.

Ricarda was already waiting for me. She’d changed out of her all-black disguise and was wearing an inconspicuous sundress. I shoved the gun into her hands.

“Here, get your prints all over it. We need to make it look like you stole my weapon.”

I glanced at the setup. Ricarda had provided a chair and several lengths of rope. Plus we had the cuffs I kept on my own body. I knew we needed to stick to the plan. But I was already turned on at the thought of binding her, of punishing her one last time.

“You want it too, don’t you?” she asked, placing her hand on my shoulder. “A final hurrah before I disappear for good.”

“We have time.” I turned to face her and took the cuffs off my belt. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

“Yes, Officer,” she gasped as the metal snapped into place.

I shoved her down and spread her legs wide, binding her ankles to the chair. Then I laced a long rope around her torso, pressing her flesh against the chair back. Hiking up her skirt, I ripped her panties off at the seams and stuffed them in my pocket. I got down on my knees and shoved my face up into her cunt, tasting her one last time. I ate as greedily as I had that first afternoon we were together, biting her flesh and sucking up all her juices. Her thighs started to quake and her cunt contracted involuntarily. Ricarda didn’t try to stay quiet this time, but moaned and shrieked as she neared her apex. I decided to give her a parting gift. This time, I didn’t pull away. I let her come.

It had been so long since I’d heard her orgasm that I’d forgotten what she sounded like. I was startled as the scream echoed through the empty warehouse, as she bucked her whole body despite the restraints.

As Ricarda finished, I stood up and gazed into her eyes. But as I leaned in for a kiss, I heard a siren blaring towards the warehouse. Grabbing my knife, I slashed the ropes and set her free. Ricarda climbed onto the table, where an open vent just her size gaped above her head. She jumped in, shimmied up, and disappeared into the darkness. I dropped to the chair, scratched my arms up with my knife just a little, making it look like I’d struggled to get myself free.

My team broke down the door and blue uniforms poured in.

“Finally! I thought you’d never be able to find me!” I yelled, trying to keep my voice from wavering. “Bitch shot out my radio and tied me up. She climbed up the air vent before I was able to cut myself free.” I knew they’d go after her, but I reassured myself that Ricarda would elude them if she hadn’t found her way out already. Nobody could catch her.

“Traffic cop happened to notice your squad car and called in for backup,” the captain said. “You’re lucky. Hey, Minogue! Go see if she’s still up in the vent.” I struggled to keep my face blank as one of the officers hoisted himself into the ceiling.

“I can’t believe she got away,” I murmured. “I was so sure I had her.”

“Ricarda Eposita has eluded everyone, from rookie local cops to the most seasoned professionals at the FBI. I didn’t expect you’d catch her, at least not your first time out. But you’re one of our best, Lieutenant Rich. I have a feeling you’ll get her someday.”

I’d hoped Ricarda’s retirement would finally resolve my inner conflict. She was out of my life, out of the country, and I didn’t even have a way of reaching her. With Ricarda out of the picture, I could focus on being a cop, give myself completely over to my career without being a hypocrite. For a few weeks, it worked. I devoted my life to my job, putting in overtime, giving it my all without any interference. Then one evening, I came home to find a postcard from Morocco in my mailbox, with a photograph of an elegant hotel on the front.

Yvonne,
Morocco is perfect. I’ve set myself up at this lovely resort and spend my days lounging in the sun. While I miss the thrill of the job sometimes, I’ll admit it’s nice to have nothing to do but swim and relax. But I miss you, too, and nothing can replace our time together. I hope one day you’ll join me here. I’ll wait, even if that means waiting forever.
Love,
Ricarda

I ripped up the postcard, threw it in the toilet, and flushed it away. I didn’t want any proof that we knew each other, and I didn’t want to know where she was. I wanted to go to work, come home, read a good book, and repeat that every day for the rest of my life.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget the postcard, the fact that she was waiting for me. I imagined Ricarda’s skin glowing in the sun. I imagined myself beside her, lounging by the ocean all day and playing in the bedroom all night. Eventually, my renewed enthusiasm for the police force waned. No matter how hard I worked, I couldn’t get over Ricarda. The thoughts of us living as expatriates, as fugitives, became more compelling than my life on the force, than everything I had spent my life working for. I thought of Ricarda before I went to bed, woke up with her on my mind. When it came down to choosing between her and my police work, I realized I’d made the wrong decision. I loved serving and protecting, and I was finally getting the respect I deserved, but none of that felt as amazing as the hours I’d spent with Ricarda.

Three months after Ricarda’s escape, I stayed late at work, tied up all my loose ends, and left a resignation letter on my captain’s desk. I didn’t want to have to explain why I was leaving, not sure I could trust myself to tell a passable lie. I took the bus to my now-empty apartment and picked up the two stuffed suitcases; everything that couldn’t fit had been sold. After handing in the key to the landlord, I took a cab to the airport.

After hours of flights and layovers and a struggle to explain to a Moroccan cab driver exactly where I wanted to go, I finally arrived at the resort Ricarda now called home. Bypassing the front desk, I walked straight onto the beach. My suitcases weighed me down, but I had to find her. There were rows upon rows of tanned, elegant, gorgeous women lounging on the sand. It was going to take me hours to find her.

“Yvonne!” I turned around. She’d found me first. I dropped my bags and stared as she ran towards me. She jumped into my arms and we kissed. I knew I’d finally made the right decision.

Breaking away, Ricarda took a suitcase in one hand and my hand in the other, and began leading me towards the hotel.

“I’ve been a bad girl, Officer.”

“And I finally have you.”

Her Equestrian Melody

by V.C.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” her lovely voice cooed.

The barn door was wide open. The sunlight shone right on my face. I didn’t know what time it was. All I knew was that it was summertime. I had been up for quite a while, naked, lying on a black cotton blanket, watching the night turn to day. I had been ridiculously eager for my mistress to arrive, dreaming about her throughout my slumber.

The barn was humid, smelling of sweet and musty hay. The Texas heat was starting to beat my horse stall and I was baking into the humidity, loving the sensually warm moisture that nestled in between my thighs and trickled down my back. This kind of heat inspired my face to flush.

I had worn my pony hoof cuffs and boots all night, which caused my hands and feet to swell slightly within them. I was neither aching nor throbbing in pain; my hands and feet were comfortably numb. The black vinyl spiked collar around my neck was starting to burn, making me anxious and restless.

When she arrived, I stood up immediately for my queen, neighing and panting over how fucking hot she looked. My Nubian goddess, the epitome of elegance and attitude.

Deliciously wicked were the best words to describe her wardrobe and overall dominance. Those eyes, hypnotically hazel, sweet, and vicious. Her dark blue latex-gartered dress was skintight, with corset-style lacing on the back and matching long latex gloves. It was short-skirted, long-sleeved, and shiny, hugging every inch of her voluptuous body. She loved to flaunt her muscular, killer legs, which were clad in a gorgeous pair of black latex stockings. And of course, the dress showed off those round and huge tits of hers, which were bouncing and jiggling with her every movement.

The sight of her body made me pant: hourglass-shaped, with well-defined arms and a big round ass. Her hair: gorgeous, Bettie Page style, as black as a stallion, full, vibrant, and bouncy with curls. It sported a black vinyl cowboy hat that sprouted long, thick, and authentic black horse hair at the top, which flowed down to her back, swishing back and forth as she moved. Her lips were as red and juicy as the forbidden fruit, and they tasted just as delicious and sinful. She wore eight-inch dark blue fetish boots, equally shiny, super high-heeled, and ridiculously captivating. She walked in them on tiptoe so naturally, a feat not many mistresses could conquer. I had heard it could possibly take months and maybe years for one to practice walking in them without breaking her feet or twisting her ankles. Rumor had it that Mistress learned how to walk in them in a matter of hours.

I trembled at the sight of those boots.

The whipping sound of her walking feet echoed in the air. She was holding horse reins and a narrow-tip riding crop with a diamond-encrusted handle. My stall door squeaked as she opened it, smiling down at me with that sexy wicked glare.

“Did you sleep well, my Melody?”

I neighed and nodded, knocking my horse hoof cuffs together to make the clonking sound she loved to hear. She smacked and patted each of my cheeks. The latex gloves felt so warm and supple against my moist skin, and they smelled good too. Mistress gave me a kiss on my lips, a kiss on my nose, sealing my future. I was in heaven.

“Are you ready for today?” She grinned.

I nodded quickly. God knew I was ready.

“You had better be. I have trained you long enough.”

She spanked my breasts with the crop, one at a time, watching them bounce as my nipples perked. The leather tip was small, adding more intensity to the sting. I yelped with each smack, already aching and wanting more. One, two, three, four, five. I felt red welts burning on my pale skin, ready to blossom in the garden of Mistress’s punishment. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. The warm and arousing pain made me shiver. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. I couldn’t get enough of the sting! Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. The burning sensation, so deep and so strong! Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five. She could tell how intense the sensations were for me by the quiver of my smile. She pinched my nipples and continued on smacking a dozen more times while thrusting her warm and sensual latex-gloved hand upward against my hairy pussy. She raked her fingers through my trimmed pubic hair, pulling and tugging at it roughly like a plaything.

“What a hairy pussy you have, you hairy cunt!”

She forced her hand up harder and harder, and I wanted to sink and fall in ecstasy. My heart was pounding; she was already making me wet and juicy. The harder she thrust, spanked, and thumped that hand against my pussy, the faster and sharper she whipped my breasts with the crop. My nipples grew intensely hard and red. Splotches of red blanketed my breasts; they looked oh-so-gorgeous and more vibrant by the smack. If she spanked me any harder and longer than she did, they would have turned a luscious blue.

“How beautiful you are,” she moaned, staring at the love prints she had coaxed from my skin. “And this cunt…I’ve trained it very well, I can tell…”

She gave it one hard slap, then inserted two fingers inside my cunt hole. I bit my lower lip, hard. The smoothness of the latex, the warmth of her fingers, the slipping in-and-out motion, slow and deep inside, then quickening, made me want come already. My knees smacked together, shaking.

Mistress gazed at me seriously, as if any sign of me writhing in pain would be the end of me.

“That’s a good girl,” she said, nodding. “You are taking things in much better.”

She continued the same motion, inserting a third finger inside of me. My legs shook and shivered. Three fingers was once quite a lot for me, but now I took it all in up to the base. She plunged them in and out of me in that smooth and gentle pace, then in seconds she became a fucking machine, pounding me faster and faster, plunging them in quite deep. She showed no mercy. I roared, and she growled and inserted a fourth finger, adding a bit of pressure to insert the fifth. I writhed in shock as my little pussy gradually allowed her entire hand to nestle inside of it.

“Ah!” I yelped.

“Ride it, bitch,” she hissed.

I felt her fist form into my cunt and my pussy throbbed around it. I closed my eyes, bouncing up and down on her fist slowly, feeling my pussy stretch.

“Oh God.” My mistress quivered delightfully, watching the way I moved and grinded my hips. “That’s my girl. Ride it just like that!”

I grunted, watching her mouth move to my chest as I obeyed her command. Her sexy mouth suckled on my right breast. Her free hand squeezed my breast as if she were a cat letting out her claws, making them bulge out. She sucked on my tit harder, swallowing my entire breast whole. I continued to ride, fast, panting, breathing heavily, stunned and amazed at my pussy swallowing Mistress’s latex fist. Mistress devoured my breast hungrily, and her saliva dribbled down to my waist. I grinded her fist into me faster and faster. She bit down on my nipples, pulling and tugging, making me shout in pain.

“Come for me!” she growled.

She pushed her fist deeper into me—oh yes! The intensity of it sent me over the edge and I exploded. The pleasurable currents swirled through me and my body grew weak and tired.

“Mmm, good girl.” Mistress smiled, pulling her hand out, kissing each throbbing red nipple, then putting the snap hook of the horse reins on my collar. She viciously smacked my ass with her crop many times and forced me down on all fours with a strong and rough pull of the reins. I whinnied and gagged when I made a soft thud into the hay.

“I think you really are ready, my sweet,” Mistress whispered into my ear, standing behind me. The heel of her boot pushed against my back, the tip of the crop rested on my butt cheek. She pressed down against my spine. I could feel a bit of her weight—a little bit heavy, but not enough to break me into pieces. I was strong; she had made me that way.

“You are going to feel like a princess pony today, my dear.” She tugged on the reins, forcing me to lift up my head so I could look straight into her eyes. “The finest latex dress: bumblebee yellow, short-sleeved, full on the front, the bottom cut out for easy access…you like that?”

She stomped her heel to the small of my back.

“Yes!” I cried.

“And your favorite steel horsehair butt plug, large…”

I nodded. She tapped the tip of her shoe against the back of my neck.

“And your pony bit head trainer with the red horse ears and lovely plumage.”

“Oh my God.”

“And, last but not least, your new pair of shoes, similar to mine, but hoof style.”

My jaw dropped.

“Yes, that’s right, black, hoof-style ballet boots…I know what you are thinking. I never made you walk in them before. Are you scared?”

I almost hesitated to nod. I couldn’t help it; I had to be honest.

“Too bad.” She laughed.

She smeared her pussy juice-covered hand all over my mouth. I sucked on it, tasting my come, its saltiness and creaminess. She thrust her hand in and out of my mouth, teasing my tongue with her fingers and kissing my forehead. She forced her entire hand inside me. I gagged, almost choked, and coughed when she kept it there and finally pulled out, spanking my ass cheeks with the crop.

With the reins she led me out of the barn, making me walk on all fours. We stepped into the plain dirt field, surrounded by a fence, with only a watering hose faucet, bunches of hay, and rope lying about. In the distance there was a field of grass, the country-style mansion that she had inherited, and a forest. The ground was scorching; I could feel it through my hooves.

A friend of hers was waiting. I called her Blondie because of her luscious and seductive Marilyn Monroe-style blond hair. She was dressed in a pink latex dress, white stockings, and white domme shoes. She never dominated or punished me. Her only job was to help me bathe and get dressed, but I imagined Mistress had her way with her any time, any place she wanted.

Blondie sat at the edge of a wooden table that held all the things made especially for me. There was a tray simultaneously buckled around her waist and hung from chains connected to her collar. I felt pampered and spoiled, knowing what was yet to come.

“Aw, doesn’t the pony look pretty today?” Blondie smiled sweetly, petting my head. “Her outfit will be a lovely contrast to those auburn red locks of hers.”

“One of the reasons why I chose the color.” Mistress winked. “Stand up, pony.”

I obeyed her. Blondie took off my collar, along with the reins and my hooves, putting them on the table. I wore absolutely nothing and beads of sweat covered my entire body. For a few minutes my fingers, feet, and toes ached. I cringed at the thought of wearing those hoof-style ballet boots. They appeared expensive and stunning, perfectly matching my outfit, but fuck, I was going to die walking in them.

However, I wanted to satisfy Mistress in every way. She was worth the struggle. I took a deep breath and exhaled. The less I thought about it, the more I desired to walk in them with absolute perfection just like my Mistress.

“Get down on all fours again,” Mistress commanded, sitting on the edge of the table. She put the diamond-encrusted handle of her riding crop into her mouth and sucked on it, plotting something in her dirty mind. I could always see it in those eyes. She stared at me as Blondie grabbed a hairbrush, a bottle of Mane n’ Tail shampoo, a bar of soap, and a sponge. Blondie placed these items on her tray, then took the watering hose and turned it on. She let the water spread into the ground underneath my palms and my feet to cool them down from the heat. The hairbrush ran through my hair, which was quite long, flowing past my ass. Blondie was so used to the length that it didn’t take her as long to brush it as it would if I did it myself.

I stared at Mistress. She had her legs crossed, gazing at me as if she were stealing a piece of my soul. I gulped, and she began to suck on her riding crop handle more passionately, suspiciously, trying to make it slick and wet. Blondie pulled my hair roughly as she wedged the hose between her legs, letting the cold water flow all over my body. It washed away my sweat and my sex stench, splashing against my pussy, my ass, my waist, my thighs, my neck, and my belly. She rubbed the bar of soap all over my body, making me neigh and giggle. She had a lovely way of teasing me while bathing me. Pinching my nipples like a naughty brat, rubbing my clit, tongue fucking my pussy, and tickling my pubic hair. After her teasing, she lifted the hose above my head. I moaned as my hair got drenched, lathered with the shampoo, her fingers massaging my scalp, then rinsing the shampoo out. The suds ran down every curve of my body. It was delightful and refreshing. I felt reborn.

“That’s enough of that now,” Mistress snapped. “Dress-up time.”

Blondie obeyed, taking a towel and wringing my hair dry. I noticed Mistress taking the handle of her crop out of her mouth, gripping on it tightly with one hand while holding the steel horsehair butt plug in the other. The horsehair perfectly matched the color of my real hair: a dark auburn, slightly curly, vibrant, and long. Mistress put the tip of the butt plug into her mouth and sucked on it. It was large, shaped like a teardrop, and the thought of the cold steel touching me was arousing. Not surprisingly, Mistress could fit the entire thing into her mouth, making it look so fucking easy and sexy as she pressed it against her inner cheek. I watched her, nearly drooling, entranced at how she sucked on it like a huge dick. Fuck, just when I was starting to get squeaky clean, my pussy was getting wet and dirty again.

“I can tell she’s getting horny.” Blondie smirked, patting my pussy and rubbing two fingers against my clit and my labia.

“Is she, now?” Mistress licked her lips, standing up. She looked down at me, dangling the butt plug above my head. “You want this?”

I neighed and nodded.

“I can tell you do, you pony slut.”

I tried to grab the butt plug with my mouth, eager, wanting, and waiting. She smacked my cheek with the narrow tip of the crop, her shoes whipping the ground as she walked behind me.

“Do you believe diamonds are a girl’s best friend, Melody?”

“Yes, I believe.”

“What do you think, Blondie?”

I didn’t hear her reply; all I heard was silence. Then, to my surprise, Mistress inserted the diamond-encrusted handle of the crop inside the hot, creamy hole of my pussy. I kicked my head back and screamed. Mistress grabbed hold onto my right ass cheek as she pumped it in and out of me. My pussy throbbed and pounded as my legs shook with pleasurable currents. Mistress’s supple and luscious tongue caressed my asshole, running in rapid circles, the tip entering inside. She thrust it in hard and my asshole took her tongue in. No matter how many times I’d been rimmed, having Mistress perform it was the closest thing to paradise for me. I loved how Mistress tongue-fucked my ass and my pussy with the crop handle in complete unison while humping her crotch gently against the back of my feet. I roared and moaned passionately, feeling the heat and the sun against my back. Blondie stood in front of me, putting a bottle of lube, a black spiked collar, and a shinier brand-new pair of pony hoof mitts on her tray. Mistress thrust the crop inside me faster and faster, spitting on my asshole. Blondie tossed her the lube and Mistress caught it. I grunted as Mistress fucked me harder; the bumpy-like sensation of the diamonds rubbing against my pinkness felt so good! Mistress smeared some lube on my asshole, keeping the crop in my pussy until it slipped out on its own. She grunted and grabbed my hair, pulling it hard to keep my head up high again. I whined like a bitch, closing my eyes as Mistress slipped one finger in my butt hole, then two, then a third.

“Ooh, it’s so nice in there…” Mistress sighed, slowly thrusting them in and out. “Such a lovely asshole.”

Blondie sat on her knees in front of me. I opened my eyes as she lifted up my hands from the ground and slipped on my hoofs, adjusting the buckle very hard and tight. My hands were already shaking inside of them; was it fear or just anticipation? I could never figure it out. These explosive feelings were always the same. Blondie then slipped on my vinyl black collar, buckling it comfortably.

“Mmm, that’s a good girl,” Mistress cooed, pulling her fingers out and slapping the tip of the plug against my small gape. The steel was shockingly cold, but as Mistress pushed it in little by little, it warmed to my temperature. I gasped in shock when all of it slowly slipped inside with the gentle force of Mistress’s hands. She pulled the plug upward, then downward, repeating the motion, pushing it back in, keeping it there. My asshole throbbed as the weight of the steel butt plug eased deep inside it.

“There we go. Now you can flaunt this lovely tail.”

The crop slipped out of my pussy, loud and juicy. Mistress sucked my juices off the crop handle. She stood in front of me after having sucked off every drop.

“Stand up.”

I pushed myself up slowly. The hoofs made it hard for me to stand on my own. When I was finally on my own two feet, Blondie brushed down my hair, which had dried up naturally in the heat and the sun. She styled my hair into a ponytail fashion and when I shook my head it felt like I had an additional tail to add to the one I wore in my ass.

Mistress grabbed my pony-bit gag head-trainer. It was made of supple black leather with a decorative, diamond-stud forehead strap. The bit was soft rubber, the ears were black on the outside, a rose red on the inside, and the long and extravagant plumage was a daisy yellow, so dressy and lovely, matching the color of my latex outfit. It was so beautiful. Mistress slipped it over my head as if it were a crown, a sign of my equestrian glory, which I was dearly proud and honored to have. The side strap and chinstrap held the rubber bit-gag snug in place. When I bit down on it, it was soft and easy on my teeth. Mistress nodded, satisfied at how I looked so far.

“Mmm.” She smirked.

She walked in circles around me slowly, slapping the crop against her palm in sharp and rapid smacks. She pulled my tail, making me yelp.

“Put on her outfit,” she said to Blondie. “And close your eyes, pony.”

I obeyed, feeling Blondie putting the warm latex dress on me with light pulling and tugging. When it was finally on, the latex hugged my hips, thighs, ass, and breasts. Indeed, the dress was cut out in the back, and a draft tickled my ass cheeks. The sleeves reached down to the start of my hoofs. When I made a slight movement, the latex squeaked. For a second I felt like the dominant one: powerful, strong, and ready to take on the world.

I was forced to sit down on the table as Mistress and Blondie slipped a pair of yellow latex stockings on my legs. It was the first time I had tried them and they were strangely invigorating. They reached high up against my thigh until only three inches of leg was showing. A black vinyl waist-cincher was put on me to accentuate my curves. I truly felt pampered, a fairytale pony made for a queen.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Mistress demanded, noticing I was trying to look. I tried my hardest to keep them shut. I shivered when my feet were slipped into the hoof-style ballet boots. Already, my feet were forced to look like a ballerina’s. Mistress and Blondie pulled the strings tight. It didn’t feel as uncomfortable as I thought it would, but boy, was I nervous about the moment when I would be told to open my eyes and stand up in them.

Mistress gave the command. I stood up slowly, cringing. The boots forced me to stand on the very tips of my toes. The new height from the heels made me dizzy. I almost wanted to cry. I gulped, trying to keep my composure. I had never felt this nervous, so hopeless and fragile. Blondie and Mistress just stood there admiring and staring at me from head to toe. Their bitchy smirks humiliated me. They were very amused at my fear and reluctance.

“My, oh my.” Mistress licked her lips, tugging at my tail. Blondie smacked my ass and tweaked my nipples through the latex. The combination of their wicked teasing and the height of the ballet boots made my legs shake uncontrollably. The heels were so fucking high and skinny: eight full inches, my fucking Lord. I was going to fall to the ground, I thought, and embarrass myself trying to stand back up.

“Aw, look at her.” Blondie smiled. “She’s afraid to walk in them.”

Mistress attached the snap hook of my reins onto the large rings of my head trainer, standing face to face with me.

“You only have an hour to practice walking in these, understand?”

I moaned through my pony bit gag, trying to say, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I didn’t dare say it out loud enough to be heard. I nodded my head instead.

“Follow me…follow my steps. Watch how I walk in mine…”

She tugged the reins, walking step by step backwards, pulling me towards her. The first step alone made me wobble and ache. I slipped and fell to the ground. Mistress just stood there, watching. She slapped my thigh with the crop repeatedly with lust and anger.

“Get up, now!” she barked. “Don’t you dare embarrass me!”

She didn’t help me up. I got back up on my own, my legs wobbling. She stepped backward again, pulling my reins gently. I counted one, two, three, again and again in my head. My feet twisted slightly. I fell again on my knees, thankful that I wasn’t broken. Mistress smacked my back and thighs in response. The welts were forming. I breathed heavily when she was finally through. I looked down at the ground, nearly in tears.

“Look at me, darling,” she commanded.

I obeyed. She grabbed my chin.

“The harder you try, the more treats you will earn for the struggle, my dear.” She smacked my cheek.

I took a deep breath and stood, feeling determined and challenged to overcome this struggle. I stepped toe to toe slowly. I watched Mistress step back. The way she did it was so elegant, like a secret dance. I paid attention, marching in my boots gently, in the same rhythm. I was slightly wobbly and clumsy, but didn’t fall as hard as the other few times.

“There you go.” Mistress smiled. “Much better.”

I swallowed hard. I was sweating, but relieved I was getting better. Minute after minute, I improved. Regardless of the many times I tried, however, I couldn’t get over my nervousness. I wasn’t a natural like Mistress, and we both knew it. I fell on my knees again and again, thankful I didn’t break my ankles. Mistress laughed wickedly, pulling my horsetail and whipping me with frustration, indicative of the brutal pounding that I was going to get later. Blondie whipped me too for the first time, and she was as sharp and vicious. I kept on practicing walking in these shoes through the hot and throbbing bruises, scratches, and welts on my buttocks. Mistress held the reins tighter and pulled me faster as she led me around her in circles, laughing at my pain, mocking my clumsiness, amused at my endurance, all which encouraged me to grow stronger once more.

By the end of the hour-long practice, I was exhausted and tired. I passed out on the ground on my knees. My feet were killing me. Mistress petted my head and kissed my nose and said reassuringly, “With time you will get better. Right now, this will do.”

She allowed me to relax for a little bit. Blondie and Mistress disappeared for a minute. I knew what they were doing. They were pulling in the lightweight-riding cart, which had two wheels and a seat big enough for both of them. I trembled in pain, pleasure, and anticipation, realizing this was just the beginning of the day. Was I looking forward to it? Did this all seem like a fantasy I could never get myself out of? Hell, yes. All of this was for her. As long as I have known my Mistress, she had demanded a pony for her birthday. Since the age of six, she had begged, screamed, and pleaded for mommy and daddy to get her one. They never did. Twenty years later, I became the pony girl that finally entered into her life. When I heard the sound of the cart rolling towards me, I stood up immediately with shaking knees, wobbling legs, and aching feet. The turning of the wheels transformed me into the ultimate sub. No pain, no numbness, no complaints, no hesitation. I was proud to be my Mistress’s pony. My life was made of this. Deep down, I loved this more than life itself.

“You look stunning, absolutely stunning, my equestrian Melody.” Mistress smiled at me. She traced her finger down from my collar to my crotch, caressing my supple bare ass. “Do you have the strength to take us to our destination?”?I nodded quickly.

“Why did I even ask? I know you have the courage.”

With a snap of her fingers, Blondie took off my hand-hooves. As soon as my hands were free, I held onto the wooden bars of the cart. I turned my head slightly. Mistress had a serpentine bull whip in her hand. She sat down in the cart, holding onto the reins. Despite her weight, the cart was still light. Blondie sat beside her, making it no more or less heavy. She held a four-foot leather-strap whip, and I was more than anticipating her lashing, as well as my queen’s.

Mistress pulled the reins. I began to march. I knew exactly where I was going: to the woods behind her estate. Mistress gripped onto the reins tighter. With the sharp, fiery smack of her whip, I marched onward, trotting in those killer boots, nervous, wobbling, shaking, but feeling as if I were basking in comfort and walking on air. I didn’t fall again, not even once as I stepped over rocks, twigs, and branches. At last, half the struggle was over. Off I went, wild and free as the rhythmic slap of the whips on my back played on.

Lucky

by Xan West

I need to be forced to name my desires. I need to look them in the eye and accept them for mine. I need to travel that long journey through shame into pride. I am lucky to have someone willing to give that to me, who can go to those scary places with me. I am lucky to have Sir.

Sir knows me. Knows what I want. Knows where the edges are, and how to take me there. We go for intensity, and it is glorious, and scary, and cathartic. It would not work between strangers. It would not work if Sir didn’t communicate my worth, and her love for me, in small daily ways.

At the leather conference, Sir dressed me in the morning. I knelt and she wrapped my wrists in cuffs. She had me wiggle into a garter belt and sit on the bed as she slowly rolled fishnet stockings up my legs and attached the garters, her fingers teasing my thighs. She pulled me to my feet, produced a skirt, and slid it up my legs, smiling with satisfaction when it barely covered my ass, leaving just enough bare thigh to show off the garters.

She removed the A-line shirt she wore the day before and through the night, and slipped it over my head, tugging it down my large frame. It smelled like her, of sweat and cologne and that musky scent that is Sir. She pulled out a deep red lipstick, painted my lips with it carefully, then smiled wickedly and wrote something in lipstick on the shirt. She handed me my Frye boots and ordered me to polish them and put them on. She was in and out of the shower before I was done, and pulling on her socks just as I finished. Her boots were gleaming, polished first thing that morning, and I helped her into them, my eyes lingering on the sight.

She unzipped her fly and pulled out her cock, saying huskily, “C’mere, slut,” as she grabbed me by the hair and thrust my mouth onto her cock. I shuddered, feeling her deep in my throat, her hands fisted in my hair, fucking my mouth. She reached into me and named that core truth I rail against. I am a slut. I was helpless to ignore it with her dick in my mouth, and that was the point. I spend so much time resisting my own desire; those moments are when I can surrender to it, because she loves it, because it is safe, because I ache to so badly.

“That’s my slut. I know how much you love getting your mouth fucked by me. This is who you are, slut. A hole aching to be fucked.”

She thrust into my mouth quickly, grunting her pleasure, then yanked my mouth off by my hair.

“Plant yourself on my boot, slut. Get it nice and wet.”

My eyes lifted and begged her not to make me do this.

“Get to it, slut,” she said gruffly, no mercy in her eyes.

I spread my legs and wrapped them around her boot, my cunt spasming as it contacted the leather. I was so ashamed that this turned me on. And so grateful that she made me face it.

“Ride that boot for me.”

I thrust onto her boot, tears forming, pleading whimpers sliding out of my mouth.

“That’s my good slut. That’s it, ride out your pleasure on my boot. Don’t stop riding it, baby. Open your eyes, let me see. You love this, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes. You love being my good little boot slut. You can’t stop until you come for me. I want your come on my boot all day, just waiting for your tongue to lick it up tonight.”

Incoherent begging sounds emerged from my throat as I rode her boot. I knew the rules but I couldn’t form the words. I couldn’t stop fighting this. I battle in my head every time. That’s the point.

“That’s my good slut. You love fucking yourself on my boot, don’t you? I can smell you, slut. All day I’m going to smell you on my boot, and know you are mine.”

My clit jolted, and my cunt ached to be filled. Tears rolled down my face. I was ashamed and aroused and so fucking helpless. There was only one way to end this.

“Please, Sir. Please may I come for you, Sir?”

“I need you to say it, slut. Tell me you are my slut, and you may come.”

I could feel my eyes get huge. There was a lump in my throat. She gripped me by the hair tightly and her voice was ferocious as she said over my whimpers,“Tell me. Tell me who you are.”

“I am your slut,” I whispered, and her hands released me as I came for her, writhing on her boot, tears rolling down my face, my cunt throbbing. There is no release like tears and orgasm combined, and she doesn’t forget that. She lifted me to my knees and gently licked the tears from my cheeks.

“Look at yourself,” she said warmly, lifting and turning me to face the mirror. My eyes were wide, face flushed, hair wild. My lipstick showed I’d been sucking cock. The A-line shirt was stretched tout over my large tits and belly, and was so thin you could see my nipples clearly, “slut” written across my chest in red. My skirt had ridden up and my cunt peeked out, glistening. The fishnets had ripped, and the tough boots made me look decidedly queer. She had marked me, her scent enveloping me, her name for me emblazoned on my chest, her cock still on my lips. I am not just a slut; I am her slut, and her actions crystallized that fact. Being her slut makes me powerful.

She tugged my skirt down slightly and stood behind me, pulling the lock out of her pocket and locking my cuffs together behind my back. I stood tall and followed her out of the room, strutting, my shoulders back, my boots loud, my head high. I was proud to be seen with her, my handsome butch in leather.

All day she showed me off. The attention made me dizzy. A tall gorgeous man with chocolate brown skin, broad shoulders, predatory eyes, and fangs peeking out from his wicked smile admired my tits and growled in my ear, making my cunt spasm. A gorgeous Asian femme dyke eyed my legs as she talked to Sir quietly. Her boy, a short, square-framed Latina butch, licked her lips and winked at me. Sir kept a hand on me all day, tugging my arms back by the cuffs to push my tits out further, stroking the back of my neck, resting her boot on my thigh as I sat at her feet. Her touch casually claimed me, keeping my arousal high.

Late in the day, she brought me over to watch a pale redheaded trans boy black the boots of a gorgeous bear of a man with pale skin covered in gray fur. She unclipped my wrists massaged my arms and locked them together in front of me, sitting me down to watch as she approached the bear to whisper in his ear. He nodded, gesturing to the boy, and they continued to talk, the bear’s eyes grazing my mouth, my thighs, my boots. I was mesmerized by them, watching the boy’s hands work, and when he lay on his belly to lick the bear’s boots, my cunt jolted and my breathing stopped. Sir returned to stand behind me, leaning into my ear as she pinched my nipples.

“Come,” she growled.

I did, trying to be quiet, my eyes locked on the boy tonguing those boots as I writhed in my chair.

“That’s my good slut,” she said. “I’m going to enjoy giving you away tonight.”

My eyes widened. I imagined being given to the bear in front of me, my ass pounded by his cock. Or maybe his boy, using those strong hands to open me up. I could almost feel the vampiric man sinking his teeth into me as he rammed me with his cock. I could see that femme top holding me down for her boy, her nails raking my skin as her boy fisted me. I writhed in the chair, my cunt throbbing. I was trembling, my mind racing from one image to the next, until they all blended together and I met Sir’s eyes, whimpering.

“Yes, slut. I’m going to offer you around. I’m going to make sure everyone knows how much you need to be fucked. You will be displayed for all to see. Everyone will know what a slut you are.”

I was going to be displayed, naked in my desire. I shuddered, lowering my gaze. My clit was pulsing, my skin hot and flushed with shame.

Fear built through dinner. She sat next to me at a crowded table as I awkwardly attempted to eat with my wrists locked together, watching my face as I thought about saying no, calling it off. I was not sure I could do it. I barely tasted the food, and sat quietly as the table ordered coffee, my hands resting in my lap. Sir leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“Stroke your clit for me, slut. You may come as many times as you like, just do not make a sound.”

I could feel the blush begin, heat racing up my skin as I reached for my clit under the table. I was sure everyone could hear the rings on my cuffs moving as I stroked myself. I gritted my teeth as I came, and could feel tears form as I continued to stroke helplessly. I came two more times before coffee had been drunk, and she told me to stop, that dinner was over.

I was so hungry to be fucked I would have gladly bent over in the lobby just to feel something inside me. Sir took me to the public play space and detached my cuffs so she could put me in the sling. She clipped the cuffs to the sling and there I was, exposed. My skirt had ridden up and I was spread wide, aching to be plundered. I felt so empty. She stepped back to look at me and shook her head, pulling out her pocket knife. She cut off the shirt, exposing my tits and belly, then stepped back. It still wasn’t right. She pulled out that very same lipstick and wrote across my broad belly. I couldn’t see it, and I was stuck; there was no way for me to maneuver to read it.

She pulled her belt from her pants and stepped back, laying sting in waves along my upper thighs. She tapped my cunt with the belt and I yelped. Sir reached for something from her bag, fumbling with it, then placed it at the mouth of my cunt.

“Please, Sir,” I whimpered.

“My slut wants to get fucked, mmm? Not just yet. Don’t you want to know what’s written across that gorgeous big belly of yours?”

I nodded.

“It says, ‘I am a slut. Please fuck me.’ That’s what you need, isn’t it? To be fucked? By me, by my friends. That’s what you love, to be spread wide and fucked. Say it for me, and I’ll fuck you, slut.”

She teased around my opening as she talked. I was holding my breath. She had actually done it. The fantasy I’d had for years. It was going to happen that night. I couldn’t believe she had done it. She pinched my nipple, jolting me out of my reverie.

“I won’t fuck you till you say it, slut.”

“Please, Sir. I am a slut. Please fuck me, Sir. I am your slut. Please, Sir. I need to get fucked. Please fuck your slut.”

The baton slid in. It was cold and excruciatingly hard. My cunt contracted around it, and it was so unforgivingly, amazingly hard. So hard it ached. Once it was in deep, she kept it still.

“You don’t even need a dick or a hand to come around, do you, slut? You’d come around anything as long as it was hard and deep, wouldn’t you? All right then, slut. You may come as much as you want tonight, as long as you make it loud.”

“Oh God, Sir,” I moaned as I came. “It’s so hard, Sir.”

“Yes it is, slut. That’s right. And it’s just the beginning.”

She thrust it into me and I came again, screaming for her, and it was still there, relentless, so intense that I began to cry.

“That’s my slut. Cry for me. That’s my good slut. Look up and see.”

I did. There he was, the sexy man I had seen earlier with the vampire teeth. He growled in my ear and I came again, moaning. He had metal claws on his fingers and they traced over my skin. My eyes locked on his as he played me with them, watching me tremble. The baton slid out of my cunt and I whimpered as he moved towards my feet. His claws traced my thighs, ripped my fishnets, my cunt spasming, empty. Sir was at my ear, her hand stroking my hair.

“Tell him,” she said.

I couldn’t. I shook my head, my eyes closed, trembling at the sensations his claws were invoking. His teeth sank into my thigh and I came, screaming.

“Tell him, or he won’t fuck you,” she said.

I choked on shame as I met his eyes. They looked even more predatory. I felt so naked. I took a deep breath. He took out his cock, and it was beautiful. He put on a condom. I could do this.

“I am a slut. Please fuck me,” I said softly.

He rammed into me. His cock was large and pulsing and so alive. My cunt clamped down and he groaned in response. He bent over and drove his teeth into my neck as he shoved into me. I was coming in waves. It was one big circuit between his teeth and my cunt, building bigger and bigger. He lifted up and glided his teeth down to worry my nipple. I came hard, milking him as he growled. It went on forever, it seemed, until he raised his head and slipped out of me.

He moved to stand on my side next to Sir and I felt a slick finger teasing my ass. I looked up and the bear was grinning at me. He was sliding fingerfuls of lube into me and stretching my ass with two fingers.

“Are you going to say it for me, hmm?” he said, his voice lilting. “Are you an ass slut? I bet you are.”

He winked at me as his delicious fingers enticed me. I could see his boy stroking him, keeping his dick hard. It suddenly didn’t seem so serious. I looked up at Sir and she was smiling. The butch-femme couple approached, big grins on their faces. I was surrounded by smiling people, all delighted for the opportunity to fuck me. A weight lifted and the words came easily.

“I am an ass slut. Please fuck me,” I said.

“I thought you might be,” he quipped, and they all chuckled.

He gripped my hips, and eased into my ass. He felt amazing. The vampire leaned in and nipped at my neck. The femme stroked my thigh as her boy took my nipple in her mouth. The bear’s boy fondled my other thigh. Sir leaned in and kissed me. I was surrounded by joy as I came. It rippled through me as the bear fucked my ass, and I could feel it gather in my stomach as it ramped up. He pulled out and gestured to his boy, as he moved up, taking off the condom and putting on a fresh one that smelled like mint. He slipped into my mouth at the same moment his boy entered my ass. He held my head still and they fucked me together. I came, screaming and gagging around his cock as it rammed into my throat. My nipples were pinched, hands stroked my skin. I was covered in sex, dripping with it, on display for all. I joyously thrust back against the cock reaming my ass. I felt so lucky. The orgasm washed over me as it built and built and I began to fly, weightless, soaring on pleasure.

The bear pulled out of my mouth and I could feel myself begin to laugh as my cunt closed on air and my ass clamped down on his boy’s dick. I was surrounded by laughter; we were all laughing as we fucked and kissed and stroked. Everyone was touching and I was the conduit for all that energy, all that connection. Across gender, across orientation, we were sharing pleasure and joy and love.

“I am a slut! Please fuck me!” I shouted gladly for the whole room to hear as the bear’s boy slipped out of my ass.

The femme pulled off her nails and slid on a glove, lubing it up. She stroked the edges of my cunt, teasing me with a grin, then pushed three fingers right in. She leaned in and blew air right onto my clit, smiling as she felt me contract around her fingers. Her thumb reached up to stroke me and I came right there, moaning loudly.

“Yes!” I yelled.

She eased four fingers in, no problem now. That insistent rubbing built, concentrating in my sternum, as she twisted her fingers, spreading them. She tucked her thumb in, working with me to slide her whole hand into my cunt. Her boy stroked my clit as she entered me. My breath stopped. I held Sir’s eyes and melted into them, feeling the energy whirl between my breasts. She was reaching right into me, and it felt like Sir reached down to hold her hand inside me, right there at my sternum.

Sir smiled and said, “That’s my good slut.”

I came, grabbing that fist, screaming, tears streaming out my eyes into my ears. Hands held me, I was cradled and safe and so so full. I looked up and the femme was kissing her boy. The vampire was smiling at me and stroking his cock. The trans boy was licking the bear’s nipples. Sir smiled proudly down at me and said, “I am so lucky to have you as my slut.”

Her hand began to move inside me and the intensity grew in my chest. I could feel her pulsing, moving so big inside me. It was suddenly too much, and my leg started cramping. She eased out and I was taken down slowly, allowed to stretch. They took me to a nearby futon. The femme’s boy was sitting there, her cock out, waiting. They seated me upon it, facing the room. She was packing a long, thick dick and it reached into me, pressing insistently against my cervix as I squirmed on it. Her hands reached around to pinch my nipples and her mouth licked and bit at my neck. I writhed on her dick. It was so long, so relentlessly there. My muscles were exhausted. I was too tired to lift up, just stuck there, impaled on her cock.

Sir pulled out her dick and teased my mouth. I wanted her inside me more than anything.

“Say it for me,” she said.

“Please fuck me, Sir. I am your slut, Sir. Oh God, please, Sir. Please fuck my mouth, Sir. I’m your cocksucking slut, Sir. Please, Sir. I am your slut, Sir.”

She slapped my cheek with her cock.

“Tell me that again.”

“I am your slut, Sir.”

“Tell me that you are proud to be my slut,” she insisted.

I came, riding the boy’s cock, squirming, moaning. Her hands began lift my hips, thrusting me onto her, moving me as she growled.

“I am proud to be your slut, Sir, Please fuck your slut, Sir,” I moaned.

Sir grabbed me by the hair and rammed her cock into my mouth. I gagged and she kept fucking me, smiling down at me, telling me to choke on her cock. Helpless, I was filled, my mouth moved by Sir for her pleasure, the boy moving my cunt to please herself. I flew higher, holes filled, senses overwhelmed, proud to be exactly who I am. Her slut.

Later, my mouth on her boot, belly on the floor, surrounded and stroked by those who helped her fuck me, I tasted my own come on the leather and was certain I got exactly what I asked for, precisely what I wanted. I lifted my head and smiled up at her.

“That’s my good slut,” she said gruffly, and stroked my cheek.

I am so lucky to be hers.

Daddy’s Home

by Scarlet Page

Alex pushed open the door to her flat, calling out blithely, “Honey, I’m home!” Tossing her keys and bags onto the entrance table, she made her way into the kitchen, from which the smell of something wonderful filled the house.

She walked into a cramped, but not uncomfortable, kitchen where her girlfriend was busy chopping and dicing. Selene turned, causing her dark hair to ripple around her shoulder delicately, and smiled up at Alex with her purple pouty lips. “Hi, gorgeous.” She grinned. “You’re just in time to help!”

Though they’d only been living together six months, Alex and Selene had settled into a type of harmony that often took other couples many years to build up. It helped that they each pursued their own interests while being supportive of each others’. And it didn’t hurt that they explored their dark sides together. In fact, it was what Alex was sure had been missing in every relationship she’d ever had before. Raw honesty like that was surely the strongest aphrodisiac.

Alex shrugged off her suit coat, hanging it over a chair at the table, and approached Selene with fire in her eyes. “Just what do you need my help with, little girl?” she purred and pinned Selene against the kitchen counter with her hips.

Selene smiled but tried to wriggle away. “I’m making dinner, you.”

Alex grinned and trapped her with arms shaped by years of push-ups. “I know, but I’ve been thinking about you all day long.” She breathed the last few words into Selene’s delicate seashell of an ear.

Pleased and flattered, Selene stopped wriggling and put her arms around Alex’s shoulders. “And what have you been thinking about doing to me?”

Alex didn’t respond, but instead pressed her lips to Selene’s again and again, until their mouths and tongues formed a conversation of their own. She let her body tell Selene of her want, pressing against her lover so Selene could feel her nipples pressing against her bindings and her shirt as if to reach her. Only when Alex felt Selene’s body responding more urgently did she break away, palming her lover’s chin.

“I want to tie you up and make you come.”

Selene’s eyelids half shut as she bit her lip and shuddered. “Oh, yes, please.”

Minutes later, Alex was stripped down to her bound breasts and panties, which were covered by a leather harness holding her favorite dildo. She was also wearing the elbow-length gloves she always wore during rough play, just because. She pulled out the lengths of rope kept neatly in their closet for occasions such as these, and took them with her to the bed where Selene sat, still clothed with a bright splash of ruby lipstick now perched on her pouty lips.

“Stand up for me,” she ordered, gently pushing Selene’s butt towards the edge of the mattress.

Selene hopped up and spun around on her toes, grinning.

“Take your clothes off for me.”

Selene moved to comply, unbuttoning her polka-dot blouse to reveal a simple white bra supporting her ample chestnut bosom. Turning again, she zipped down her skirt and pulled it down while she bent over slowly to display her white knickers.

Alex crossed her legs and placed a hand on her groin, partially cupping the dildo so it pressed against her pussy lips. She raised her eyebrows at Selene’s turned, inquisitive head as if to say, “Get on with it, then!”

Selene smiled and faced back away from Alex, dropping her hair like a curtain across her shoulders. She reached back to unclasp her bra, slowly turning back around so when she dropped it, her erect nipples and large breasts gleamed in front of Alex. It put Alex in the mind of two enormous harvest moons, and she feasted her eyes on the gentle curves Selene formed so effortlessly.

“Now your panties,” Alex said, signaling Selene with a nod. She responded by hooking her thumbs into the waistband and shimmying gently back and forth until she’d dropped them down to her knees, where they fell to the floor of their own accord.

Standing, Alex crossed the few feet to her lover, rope in hand. She cupped Selene’s heart-shaped face in her hand and kissed her lightly on the nose. “Kneel for me.”

Selene got down gingerly and once she was situated, looked up at Alex’s dildo, then her eyes, with grinning expectation. Alex couldn’t help grinning back. She loved moments like this where they connected just through joint anticipation—it was almost as enjoyable as mutual orgasms.

Still grinning, she began to wave the dildo back and forth in front of Selene’s lips which were perfectly outlined in ruby red lipstick. “Open up, little girl!” Selene dutifully closed her eyes and opened her mouth in a perfect O, and Alex slid the tip of her dildo in, allowing Selene to take it over with her lips and tongue.

“But,” Alex warned, tapping the tip of her index finger on Selene’s nose, “don’t muss that lipstick!” Selene nodded as well as she could with a mouth full of dildo.

“Now, hand your wrists up here,” Alex demanded, planting her legs so Selene’s attentions wouldn’t push her backwards. Again, Selene complied quickly, both in eagerness and obedience, awkwardly twisting her shoulders so she could reach her hands up behind her back and still suck Alex off.

Alex bound her wrists together with a few practiced motions, then allowed Selene to drop them behind her. She bent down over Selene’s back, shoving her dildo deeper into her mouth, and slipped the remaining length of rope between Selene’s buttocks. Standing back up, she gently but firmly pushed Selene backward by her jaw until she was sitting on her heels. Alex lifted her to standing with a strong arm, and brought the rope up to Selene’s torso, binding her breasts between the remaining rope until they stood out thickly from her chest, turning a bit purple from the constriction. Selene winced at the ropes cutting into her cunt and chest.

“Does that hurt too much, little girl?” Alex crooned.

“No, it hurts just right, I think,” Selene replied, standing straighter in an attempt to find a more comfortable position.

“Aww, you don’t look very comfortable,” Alex teased her. “Maybe I can find some way to distract you…” And she took Selene’s erect nipples in her fingers and squeezed gently, eliciting a gasp from her lover. Selene both loved and hated having her nipples played with, as they were so sensitive. Alex didn’t torture her by playing with them much, but today, she’d decided, was different.

After several minutes of nipple tweaking, Alex took Selene’s breasts into her mouth one at a time, massaging them gently with her tongue and allowing Selene to relax while she focused on more than the nipples. She held Selene by the arms as she did this, allowing the girl to lean back and be supported in her lover’s arms. Gently Alex swung them around so Selene was facing the bed and, mouth still to her breast, dropped them down onto the soft mattress.

Covering Selene’s body with her own, she kissed her way up her chest to her neck and all around her face, except her lips. “Time for clothespins!” she announced blithely, enjoying the half-faked, half-real look of terror that Selene instantly adopted.

“No, not the clothespins!” she pleaded. “I’m so sensitive!”

“I know,” Alex growled. “That’s why it’s so much fun.”

Twisting Selene’s right nipple between her thumb and index finger, she tugged up and clasped the clothespin directly under the nipple. Seconds later, she had done the same with the left nipple. Selene’s wincing face and awkward wriggling displayed her discomfort.

“You’re going to come with those on, you know,” Alex stated matter-of-factly.

Selene, already tearing up, replied, “I don’t think I can.”

“Then I’ll just have to help you.” Alex knelt by the side of the bed and pulled Selene to her so that the girl’s calves hung off the bed. This was the moment Alex always cherished the most: the moment where Selene’s submission was fervently anticipating pleasure, but still anxious and a bit frightened. She loved how Selene wanted her reassurance and her control. She loved knowing the trepidation would once more turn to ecstasy under the guidance of her strong, sure hands.

She scooped up Selene’s ass into her hands, lifting and tilting her pelvis so it was at the perfect height to press her face into. With a thumb, she hooked aside the rope that ran between Selene’s legs, exposing her delicately trimmed pubis and thick clit.

She dipped her head and sniffed loudly, breathing in the scent that only Selene could create: bubble bath, peppermint, and the ocean all in one. She licked Selene’s slit with her tongue wide and flat, covering as much of her cunt as she could with her tongue. Again and again she lapped at her until Selene’s wriggling and thrusting hips made her pleasure clear. Then she curled her tongue and thrust it in and out of her wet pussy, listening with glee to the familiar sounds of Selene’s moaning orgasm.

Smiling like the Cheshire cat, she stood, stretched, then lay down beside Selene. Alex removed the clothespins, then stroked Selene’s jawbone gently with a glove-covered index finger. Bending low to her ear, Alex asked, “Are you enjoying yourself, little girl?” Selene nodded shakily, eyes still unfocused with pleasure.

“Here’s where the fun really starts.” Alex backed away, taking in the beautiful picture of the naked, bound girl lying sopping wet on their bed. “That first dildo was just to get your throat opened up, sweetie. But we’re going to get you an upgrade tonight.” While she spoke, she unclasped the straps to remove the modest five-incher she’d been sporting and pulled a much taller and thicker model out of a bedside drawer.

Slipping the dildo into the harness with practiced motions, she took her time deliberately adjusting the straps just so in front of Selene’s waiting, trembling body. With the dildo poised between her legs, Alex stepped to the bed and knelt stood so it pointed at the bound woman’s mouth.

Selene expectantly opened her mouth, but Alex reached down to correct her with a not-so-gentle slap to the cheek. “I didn’t tell you to do anything, did I?”

Selene shook her head.

“Then don’t act like you know what I want, little girl.”

Selene nodded.

“Now lick your lips and show me how hungry you are.”

Selene complied, smearing her ruby red lipstick that, until this moment, had remained pristine in the process.

“That’s good. Now you can open up.”

Selene’s lips parted, revealing her tongue and throat. Alex swirled her hips, rubbing the dildo around Selene’s mouth, further mussing her lipstick, before she slipped it in. Selene automatically started sucking, complying with the movements of Alex’s hips and hands, which were pulling at Selene’s dark hair, forcing the dildo deeper with subsequent thrusts. Selene gagged, but Alex was relentless and the girl yielded, opening her throat to Alex’s insistence.

Alex watched her, gripped with lust, and felt her body respond. The dildo, once an extension of her, was now something she felt as if it were her own. The sensations caused by Selene’s mouth started slowly but built quickly, so Alex could not keep herself from fucking the girl’s face harder than she’d planned, orgasms shuddering up from her groin to her breasts and back again. When she had come back to herself, she climbed off of Selene and kissed her gently across her soft face.

“That was so good, baby. I came so hard. Do you think it’s time you had another orgasm?”

Selene nodded wildly and Alex reached into the slit between her bound thighs to feel her sopping pussy lips. Slippery and full of blood, Selene’s delicate cunt lips gushed at her touch. Both women shook with pleasure, waiting for the orgasm to work through Selene’s body. Alex felt pride, pleasure, and lust roaring through her, could feel the powerful ache of her dark desires roaring up out of the place where she stuffed them deep down out of the light of the every day.

Roughly, she pulled the girl up, turned her about, and threw her facedown on the waiting bed. Selene’s ass glowed like a beautiful moon, making Alex hungry to mark mauve lines across the smoky landscape of her beautiful girl’s skin.

She chose a slim black slapper from her toys and caressed it expertly in her gloved fingers. Since Selene was new to the pain-as-pleasure game, Alex wanted to use something with high shock value but little damage. Slappers were perfect, with their alarmingly loud noise but fairly gentle impact—compared to Alex’s riding crops and canes, that is.

Selene waited patiently, facedown on the bed, the lines from the chair already starting to fade.

With a rakish grin, Alex swung her hand up and then firmly down on Selene’s ample bottom, landing the slapper with a loud thwack! Selene’s entire body convulsed against her binding ropes to jump in surprise. Alex’s grin grew wider and she paused a few seconds before once more swinging her slapper solidly into Selene’s exposed nethers. Two-inch-wide stripes of dark pink appeared before Alex’s waiting eyes, like Polaroids bubbling into images, and she growled deep in her throat.

Such sights never failed to bring out the animal in her, and Alex spent the next ten minutes wildly bringing the slapper down across Selene’s ass and thigh, watching the crisscrossing pink cover more and more of her lover’s sensitive skin.

Having released some of her internal frenzy, Alex felt contained enough to once more touch the beautiful, rope-wrapped Selene. Gently, she caressed Selene’s bottom with her gloved hands, kissing the blood-warmed skin over and over. Alex started licking instead of kissing the closer she came to the slit between Selene’s legs, and she let her broad tongue travel slowly across the creases between her ass and thighs.

Selene, still facedown and wrapped in rope, began rolling her hips and arching her back, exposing more of her ass to Alex, who pulled it closer and shoved her face in deep to tongue Selene’s little pursed hole. Selene squealed and bucked, so Alex popped back up, laughing gently.

She slid her long, firm body up against her partner’s smooth back and ass, lifting her torso over Selene’s bound arms. She loved feeling so much of their skin against each other, the mutual heat they generated, physically and mentally. It made her hunger deep inside open like a chasm that she willingly threw herself into.

Roughly, but tenderly—she knew how much pain was just too much—she pulled Selene’s dark hair back, exposing her delicate bronze neck. With a lick and a kiss to the neck, she plunged the dildo into Selene’s sopping cunt, thrusting with wild abandon as she gripped the bound woman tighter to her breasts.

Her hips, abs, and thighs strained to keep up the momentum as her mind was filled with images of fire and drowning—the only scenes she could fathom to fit such an absorbing feeling. She was a thing to serve and please this treasure in her arms, and she gave herself over to the task with abandon, mingling her cries with Selene’s.

When they were both spent, Alex forced her groaning body to remove Selene’s binds, kissing where the pressure had left imprints. Selene’s body released itself like a flower opening, and she lay hazy-eyed with pleasure, slicked with a sheen of sweat. Alex collapsed beside her, curving herself to fit beside her lover. Together they panted till their breath returned to them. Then, holding hands, they rested silently, letting the air conditioning whisk away their sweat.

Once she felt cool again, Alex sat up and turned, smiling towards Selene. “How’s about that dinner then?”

Selene laughed and exaggeratedly mimed her exhaustion. “I couldn’t possibly cook now!” she protested.

Alex bent down to kiss her lovely lipstick-smeared lips. Rubbing her nose to Selene’s she murmured, “Then come sit with me while I cook for us, darling. I can fill you up right.” She grinned as a fresh peal of laughter rang from Selene. Alex sprang up, giving her hands to Selene for help.

Once Selene was standing, Alex couldn’t resist holding her just a bit—and after a long, slow hug, the lovers walked hand in hand together down the hall.

Für Elise

by Maggie Morton

“How does it look?” I asked, looking at myself in the mirror. The collar was almost too tight, but maybe that was how it was supposed to be. It was my first time wearing one, after all. My first time being collared. “Hot,” Elise said. She stood to my right, and I looked over at her—my beautiful femme with the long, brown curls, the beautiful blue eyes, and the red-lipsticked grin of a sadist. Then I looked back at the full-length mirror I stood in front of, giving myself the once-over. I looked more of a dyke than her, my hair cropped short and close to my head, my face plain and empty of any makeup. I detested the stuff, but loved it on Elise, loved watching her hook her garter belts around her waist, adjust her teardrop breasts in her lace demi bras, then she would bind me tight, wrapping layer after layer of soft, beige cloth around my own breasts, the ones I usually didn’t want. I hadn’t known that first time she saw me naked that she would some day beg to top me. We’d started out oh-so-vanilla, her hot breath coating my cunt when I let her go down on me, her tongue flicking away. The sighs and shudders came from her most of the time, though, because my cunt should have been a dick, should have been something to penetrate with—oh no, not the other way around.

I’d let her fuck me just once with the strap on, and yes, it had felt good, her cunt sprouting that flesh-colored silicone cock, sliding in and out of me, slick, hard, mean. But I was the one who did the fucking after that, and she accepted that, told me I was her butch prince, and she would never try to take that away from me.

But do princes ever wear collars? I wanted to ask her that, as I stared at myself in the mirror. True, I looked hot as fuck with it on, the thin band of black leather proclaiming to the select few who knew, who understood, that I was owned, that I belonged to someone—that I was someone’s bitch. I was Elise’s bitch, I would tell anyone who asked, but hopefully no one would. And tonight I would let my breasts announce my femininity, free from their usual binding, and I would be a woman, just this night—for her, for Elise. “You ready to go, Parker?” Elise asked. We were going to the opera, and while I had been willing to go without my binder, I still insisted on wearing a suit. So along with the collar, I was wearing a tailored dark gray pinstripe, complete with vest and shiny black loafers. Even I knew I looked good, but everyone’s eyes would be on Elise, on her cleavage, her lovely legs, her shapely hips. The velvet knee-length dress caressed her flesh, and for a second I pictured pulling it off her, shoving her onto the bed, saying “Let’s skip this opera thing,” when I really meant, “Let’s skip this submission thing.” I was scared, and I knew Elise could tell. That was part of submitting to one’s lover, wasn’t it? Being afraid? Not knowing what might come next, a kiss or the riding crop? Not that we had one—at least, not that I knew of. Then Elise lifted her purse off the bed, and I saw it was her biggest one, and I may be butch, but I know enough about how women dress that you don’t bring a purse that size to the opera. Elise was up to something, it was obvious. “You ready?” she asked, grinning at me, and I knew that grin, but for once, I didn’t know what it meant beyond the fact that she was thinking dirty thoughts. “Uh, yes. Let’s go.” I didn’t bother hiding the apprehension in my voice. I knew my girl, just awakening to the world of topping, would enjoy hearing it. On the drive there, I kept flipping my mirror down to glance at myself. The sight and feel of the collar was starting to make me wet, something I certainly couldn’t have predicted. I found myself picturing doing things for Elise, submitting to her. Sucking her fleshy cock deep down my throat as she stood above me, laughing as I slobbered all over her dick, laughing at the submissive butch who would do anything she said, all she had to do was ask, or she could order me to stick my ass and cunt up into the air, present myself to her—open, willing, up for whatever she might ask me for. I glanced at Elise from time to time, deciding finally to tell her. “This collar is making me wet, babe. It’s making my clit rock-hard.” “Good, because I have a detour planned. We aren’t going to the opera,” she said, smirking at me. Oh, how evil of her. What on earth did she have planned? “So? Where are we going?” I asked, my deep voice rising a little higher than usual. “We’re going to Nina’s. She and I are going to top you. Together.” Oh, my. I had been crushing on Nina for ages, as Elise very well knew. We would talk about our crushes sometimes, about our attractions, but it had never gone beyond just talk—at least, not until now. “If that’s okay with you,” Elise added, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “Yes. Yes, it is,” I said, starting to smile for the first time that night. I just hoped she wouldn’t be too hard on me. Nina had been a member of the leather community for years, and I had heard from various sources what happened to people who bottomed to her. I liked pain all right, but I was worried. Would there be needles? Electric toys? Worse?

“She’ll take it easy on you, I promise. I told her you liked pain but you’re not in love with it.” I found myself picturing Nina as we got closer to her house. She had sleek jet-black hair hanging down to her hips, and her skin was liberally coated with tattoos, something I sometimes found very sexy, with sleeves of blue, red, and yellow, an ouroboros winding around her neck and chains around her ankles. She was a switch, I had heard, but mostly liked it on top. I didn’t know where I liked it. Yes, I’d been bitten. Yes, I’d bit back. And I’d spanked a few girlfriends’ asses till my hands left lovely red marks. But what tonight would bring, and what it might teach me about myself, my kinks, how I liked to be fucked—that, I didn’t know quite yet. “We’re here,” Elise said, pulling me out of my reverie. That we were, pulling in towards the garage of Nina’s large house. I’d been here before, but only once: a small dinner party late last spring, and it was where I had met Elise, where she’d made me fall for her just a little, just from one short conversation. We got out of our car, the outside air cooler than it had been at our apartment. At the front door of Nina’s house, Elise gestured towards the door, and I knocked twice, softly. Then there was Nina, wearing a buttoned-up white dress shirt and black ankle-length leggings. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, just as lustrous as always. “Welcome, Elise…and her slave,” Nina said, her lips curling into a smile. “Hi,” I said. I wanted to disappear into thin air in that moment. But more than that, I wanted to see what Nina and Elise had planned for me. I wanted to know—what would they do to me? What would they use on my body? And how would it feel, being topped for the first time?

Inside Nina’s house, she led us through the entryway and into a large living room, the chairs and couches down a couple of steps. We followed her down a hallway, and from it we entered a room to the left—a bedroom. Of course. Elise sat on the bed and began taking things out of her purse, things I’d never seen before, things she had bought without me knowing. That turned me on a little, picturing her going into a sex toy store, maybe a seedy one, where the man behind the counter would leer at her, watch the obvious dyke pick up things for her obvious girlfriend, things to use on her. Things to use on me.

There was a harness with a sizable black dick attached—it must have been at least seven inches, bigger than I’d ever taken, possibly even bigger than I’d ever fucked someone else with. There was a white leather mask—of course, without eye-holes—and after that, a ball-gag and some pink rubber anal beads, steadily getting bigger and bigger the further down the line they went. As she removed each item, she placed it on the bed, and once she was done, she glanced from Nina to me, smiling.

I didn’t know which of the things would be used on me. Some of them? All of them? I’d never let anyone penetrate my ass before, but a number of dykes I’d known were quite vocal of their love of ass play, so, well, maybe I’d like it too? I guess tonight would be my chance to find out.

“Strip down,” Nina said, her voice cold, her expression austere. “Now.”

I did as she asked, shimmying out of my pants, my boxer briefs, pulling off my jacket, vest, shirt. Soon, almost too quickly, I was completely naked. I glanced from Elise to Nina, feeling a little shy—me, with not a stitch on, and both of them still dressed. “Do you think we should strip down, too? Make him a little more comfortable?” Elise asked. She was grinning, and there was a bit of wickedness in her voice. “Maybe…yes,” Nina said, with a curt nod. “Yes, I think that will do just fine. After all, we don’t want to scare him too much this first time bottoming.” Him? So I was a man, thank goodness, and Nina wouldn’t try to turn me into something I wasn’t, try to put a round peg in my square hole like so many others had. Both women began to undress, and I couldn’t help but stare at Nina, as I got to see parts of her skin I’d never seen before this night. Soon, both women were down to their underwear, then only Nina still wore hers—Elise was completely naked. Nina wore a cupless black leather bra, her nipples a dark chocolate brown, her areolae only slightly paler than them. Strips of leather crisscrossed across her breasts, revealing more than they hid, to my delight. On the bottom, black satin boyshorts showcased her full ass and voluptuous hips. She began walking towards me, a walk that spoke of wild things, of power. “Shall we blindfold him now?” Elise asked. I had almost forgotten my darling Elise was in the room—she, the one who had orchestrated this whole thing. I smiled at her, mouthed “Thanks” silently, and she blew me a kiss.

“I think so,” Nina said, and she walked over to the bed, picked up the blindfold, then, quick as a wink, she slammed me onto the bed face-first, displaying the hidden strength beneath her delicate arms. I grunted as I hit the bed, I couldn’t help it.

“Didn’t see that coming, didja?” came Elise’s voice, and I could tell there was an edge of laughter beneath her words. I couldn’t tell if she was smiling or not, couldn’t see her at all, then Nina (it must have been Nina) grabbed hold of my hair and yanked my head up.

Go ahead,“ Nina growled. “You do the honors, my dear.”

I didn’t even hear Elise approaching; the carpet must have masked the sound of her footsteps.

Then I was masked, the thick white leather covering my eyes, and I felt one of them, probably Elise, buckle the mask behind my head. Hands, who knew how many—two? three? four?—skimmed my flesh, caressing and pinching. One kept creeping lower, lower, until I felt fingers sliding dangerously close to my asshole, sliding in between the cheeks surrounding it, then a few fingers grazed that spot that I’d never let anyone touch before this night. I squirmed, wriggling against those fingers, and found myself surprised I wasn’t trying to move away from them, from that touch, that I was instead trying to enhance it, hoping maybe those fingers would go ahead and slide right inside, take away my anal virginity.

I heard some chuckles, low toned, and it sounded like the two women behind me were quite aware of the effect that gentle graze of my asshole had on their submissive. “Did you like that, sweetie?” a voice asked. Elise, and I could tell she was smiling, her voice a joyful purr.

“I think he did, the little anal slut.” Nina, and her voice was more of a growl. Someone grabbed my hands, yanking them together, then something was placed around each wrist—cuffs?—and I found I could no longer move them freely. But all that was done as I noticed the gentle touch of a finger, ever-so-slowly sliding down the space between my ass cheeks, inching its way towards—then the finger was placed directly on my asshole. I couldn’t stop a moan from flowing from my lips as that finger gently circled my hole, the one no one had ever touched. Then, even better, the finger began to tease my hole, pressing against it, sliding in just a little bit, then all the way out. “Has he ever done this before?” Nina said, and I was grateful she’d thought to ask. “No, so I guess we’ll have to lead him through it,” Elise said. All the while that finger continued to tease me, to send shivers down my flesh. I was so very angry with myself for never trying this before, for never suggesting even that someone just tease my ass. Well, it was apparent—I was still just starting to discover what I liked in bed, I thought to myself, surprising as that thought was. “Okay, Parker,” Nina said, “Here’s how it works—you need to relax, and you need to breathe, and we need to use lots and lots of lube. Now, Elise, would you kindly prep the anal beads?” I heard giggles, whispers, and not much else. Then a very cold pressure against my asshole, and I gasped. “That too cold for you, sweetheart?” Elise said, more evil in her voice than I’d ever heard before. The pressure increased and I felt one bead after another slowly slipping inside me, easy as that. No wonder so many people liked this, having their asses played with, having their asses fucked. Then I remembered the strap-on, and I prayed it would get used on me tonight. A guy can dream, right? I lost count of how many beads had gone in—five, maybe?—but before I could ask, I realized suddenly how wet I had become, the juice practically dripping down my thighs. “Oh, I think he likes it!” Elise sounded delighted, and who could blame her? I was pretty delighted, too. Then I gasped as I felt one of the beads start slowly easing in and out of my ass, back and forth, stretching me, then popping out, a sensation that there were no words for. Before I could find them, I was flipped onto my side, the beads still in, and I felt something hard pressed up against my lips. “Open up, darling, open up,” Nina said, and I realized what I was feeling against my lips was a dildo—I guess now she was wearing the strap-on. So I did, opening my lips wide, and I felt them stretch tight as it slid in between them, the girth surprising me all over again, even though I knew quite well how big the dildo was. Then she began fucking my mouth, slow and steady, showing me how well she could thrust those lovely hips of hers. I was so distracted by the face fucking I was receiving that I barely noticed as the beads slowly slid out of me, one by one, although I did notice how empty I felt when the final one was pulled out. I wasn’t empty for long, though, because a finger started teasing me, then sliding in, and I felt myself being stretched as each knuckle found its way inside me. I’d never been so full before, never had both my mouth and ass fucked at the same time, and it came with a glorious feeling, a feeling of being used, but loved, too, all at once. Then a second finger joined the first one, and the fingers began to fuck me—not gently, I should add. The cock shoved in my mouth began to fuck harder too, then I heard a click, and the cock began to vibrate, shaking against my lips. “Suck me, Parker. Suck me till I come,” Nina said, her voice quivering. Then, only a few moments later, came that loveliest of sounds, the proof she was coming, and damn if she wasn’t coming hard. I would have grinned if my mouth hadn’t been so full. Then I became empty once more, the cock and fingers slowly slipping out of me. Someone pulled the blindfold off, and I saw it was Elise who removed it, smiling down at me. “You did a lovely job, sweetie. Just lovely.” She leaned forward and kissed me ever-so-gently on the cheek. “That was…awesome,” I said, laughing a little. “I’ll have to figure out some way to thank you.” “Oh, I doubt you’ll have much trouble coming up with an idea,” Nina got up from the bed and leaned over me—then, a light brush of fingers across my forehead. “I think I’ll leave you two alone up here, so you can decide together what a proper show of thanks would be.” She walked towards the door, pulled a black fuzzy robe off the table beside it, and left the bedroom, the door shutting behind her with a soft click. “So.” I looked up at Elise, my lovely femme, the girl who I’d gladly do anything for. “I came up with an idea for how to thank you, but it requires something that’s at our apartment. So maybe, for now, I could just give you a few orgasms?” “I think that would do just fine,” Elise said, and the sadist’s grin from earlier was back on her face. She shoved me onto my back. She moved, smooth as satin, up to my face, her beautiful cunt hovering above my lips. Then she lowered down, my tongue met her clit, and the whole time I worked towards getting her off, I found myself thinking happily of the box with the ring in it waiting for us at home, waiting to slide down Elise’s finger, waiting to make her my wife. It would—hopefully—soon become my very favorite thing to ever encircle that finger.

My second favorite thing, well, that you’ll just have to guess.

Homecoming

by Angel Propps

Caroline smiled wearily at the small boy who kept giving her shy peeks from under the thick fringes of his eyelashes. The child’s mother gave her an equally shy smile as they stood there with their bodies almost touching in the cramped and people-jammed aisle of the airplane.

For the last six weeks she had been traveling nearly nonstop on a small singer/songwriter tour that had taken her far from home and often left her feeling vulnerable and alone. A beautiful blond woman traveling alone always attracted weirdos in the airports and bus stations. Add the guitar she wore strapped onto her back into the mix and suddenly everyone wanted to talk, to tell her they played, to find out if she was famous or about to be, to ask questions and talk music. It drove her nearly insane at times.

The air in the plane was stiff and sticky. The smell of people who have been crammed into tight places and taken long distances was a nearly unbearable reek and Caroline found herself wanting to shove her way past all the slow, stupid people who were too busy chatting or rearranging their things to simply take their belongings and get off the damn plane so she could do the same.

The bottleneck caused by a weasel-faced man who was trying to stretch out the time it took to get his bag from the overhead in order to make one last attempt to hook up with a clearly out-of-his-league woman finally broke free, thanks to the woman’s loud and angry directive to that man to move his fat ass. An order which made Caroline and a few others laugh out loud.

She had to wait at the jetway for her guitar. She always gate-checked it and the one thing that would guarantee her a fucked-up day was to be told to collect the instrument down below. The guitar was a beloved thing, a 1940s model Martin that her father had given her many years ago, and nothing upset her more than having some careless baggage person toss it into the regular cargo hold. To have to stand there waiting for the carousel to spit that instrument out was an incredibly stressful experience and not one she wanted to go through right then. After all the time alone, she was finally home.

More than one set of eyes came to rest on her as she strode through the airport. She was one of those women who attracted attention and not just because of her model-thin physique, long hair and legs, or the heart-shaped face with eyes the precise shade of the sunniest summer skies. There was a confidence in her movements, a prowling grace that made people look her way.

Women read her cool stare as bitchiness. Men looked at those standoffish eyes, the full lips below them, thought, cock tease, and sighed. The truth was harder to define.

Hannah saw her coming and a smile crossed her cute bow mouth. She waved her arms over her head and jumped up and down, causing her full breasts to bounce and become in danger of falling out of the halter top of the spotlessly white sundress she wore.

They ran into each other’s arms, oblivious to the stares and the double takes. If anyone was in doubt as to what they were to each other, they didn’t stay that way after the two exchanged a brief but intensely wet-mouthed kiss that left one old woman gaping and gulping, an expression which made her look remarkably like a hooked trout.

“You’re home!” Hannah chanted as she skipped alongside Caroline, the two of them heading for the big glass doors. “Oh honey, I am so glad you are home!”

“Me too.”

In the beginning of their relationship Hannah had worried about the often terse responses she got to her exuberant outpourings of affection but eventually she had come to see that Caroline had to have some sort of space to retreat to and her silence was where she went to get it. Now she took the answer as a matter of course, and chattered on easily as she walked beside her lover.

Caroline knew they were an odd-looking couple. She was tall and lean. Hannah was dark and round and pretty in a sweet–faced, merry kind of way. Caroline was mainly quiet and often hid behind her armor to gain a little peace from the world. Hannah ran at the world with swords made of pink flowers and lip gloss. Caroline was hard and sharp-angled in her demeanor, Hannah was as soft and friendly as a goofy puppy. They had met four years ago when Caroline had been playing at a local club. Hannah had come up to her, given her an oddly intense gaze and announced they were made for each other. Somehow, despite their differences, they were.

Hannah could tell Caroline was excited to see her and in more ways than one, by the telltale glaze of sweat on that upper lip. To be naughty, she swished her skirt and made a point of clicking her high heels across the floor of the airport, the concrete of the parking lot, and finally the linoleum of their old kitchen floor.

They sat on the puffy couch in their living room, Caroline’s duffel and guitar case on the floor and momentarily forgotten. Hannah climbed onto Caroline’s lap, facing her, and began to grind her wide and cushiony hips against Caroline’s crotch and belly.

“Did you miss me?”

“You know I did.”

“Do you love me?”

“You know I love you.”

Hannah did know it but she needed to hear it. She needed to be told that things were going to be fine, that there was now and always love between them. She needed to know she was loved. It was how she kept herself separated from the rest of it.

“I want to play.”

That was their code. It meant one of them wanted to do a scene and the verbalization of that desire opened up the moment for them. Either of them could agree or disagree. The words were not nor ever would be a command; they were a respectful request. The words could and did often set the stage; they were necessary to them both. Those words were the ones that would signal their leaving their life upstairs behind for a little while to become the people they were in scene.

“Me too, ” Caroline whispered and her heart began to thunder along with her pulse as they stood and walked to the door that led to the basement. By the time they went down the stairs the rush hit them both, that free-falling feeling, a giddy whirl of fear and crotch-pulsing excitement. When they got down to their private dungeon, they both slipped nimbly into the beginnings of the headspaces that would change them from Caroline and Hannah into Mistress and sub.

Hannah stood perfectly still and silent, trembling with excitement and trying to control her breathing. The cool air crept up from the floor, from around the doorframe, and lifted ticklish fingers against her skin. From behind her there was a small snap and snick of a lock opening. She could hear the hinges on the old leather’s doctor’s bag creaking, and she had to clamp her mouth tightly shut to keep from blurting out a small moan of anticipation.

She was naked but for the ropes. Some lengths of it bound her breasts, forcing them into aching roundness, and more of it was knotted into a beautiful and complex pattern that spun around her wrists, which were extended high above her head and held there by a wickedly sharp hook that jutted down from the ceiling. There were loops of it around her waist; it ran upwards and became a collar around her throat. Her heart beat against the walls of her chest as she stood there waiting to see what would come next.

There was the scent of old leather and the balm used to preserve it, the rustle of things being laid out in careful and precise lines on the square of old velvet that her Mistress liked to store and display her tools on. No toolbelt for her. Her floggers never resided at her waist. She liked the element of surprise, liked to rattle her sub’s cage, both literally and figuratively.

The sub did not move but her thighs clenched when a thin whisper of air blew against her back, slid up the knotted column of her spine, and died against the nape of her neck. Her shaved bare crotch felt slippery and heated. The muscles in her arms stretched and lengthened, gave off a tiny protest that made her even hotter. Under her bare feet the floor of the basement room they played in felt gritty, and she dug her toes into it in an attempt to slow down her desire.

Mistress advanced on her sub. She came around her and forced her to look at her, to see the black leather catsuit that showed off her body to its best advantage, to see the empty hands so she would feel her lust for her Mistress ignite and she would wonder if she was going to be set free without being allowed her play. Mistress knew the act of being bound was enough to put her sub into the deepest subspace. She always took her time, getting the knots just right and forcing her sub deeper into her space with each one. Now she reached out and gave the wrists a sharp tug, causing the sub to whimper.

“I love your face when you cry,” Mistress said and bit her sub’s bottom lip, a quick nip that left a small sting that faded far too quickly. “I am going to make you cry. You want that? You want to cry for me?”

“Yes,” the sub whispered. “Please…I do. I want to cry for you.”

Mistress smiled, then her hand flashed out. It struck against the sub’s cheeks, where a hectic flush bloomed. The sub squealed, then let out a high-pitched scream as the hand slashed back down on the opposite cheek. Forwards and back the hand went, snapping her head left and right and back again.

“Ooooh….oh…” There were no words and no need for them. The sub knew her Mistress preferred her not to speak. She liked for her to scream. Fluid leaked from her center and coated her inner thighs. Mistress flicked a careless finger across the sub’s swollen clit and laughed.

“Don’t move,” she warned. “Not a single muscle. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the humble reply and the Mistress smiled in satisfaction.

Fingernails raked against her skin, drew lines across her belly, her upper thighs. Her nipples were flicked with a harsh thumb, then twisted and pulled cruelly. The nails went in circles across the cheeks of the sub’s ass, growing more insistent, then pulled away, leaving a tingling sensation behind. The sub felt the first of the tears start to trickle down her face and she muttered out a soft and wordless plea that was cut off when Mistress grabbed her by her hair and pulled her head into her breasts, stuffing her hardened nipples into the sub’s mouth, letting her suckle and nuzzle as a reward that lasted nowhere near long enough.

The sub shivered as the Mistress walked behind her. Her ass arched out involuntarily and her knees went weak.

“Why did you move?” Mistress spoke in a tone that said she was angry. The sub had not shown restraint and Mistress did not approve.

There was no right answer to that question. The sub knew she had disobeyed a direct order and she whispered, “I’m sorry,” but her Mistress did not feel like forgiving her.

“How many times must we go through this?” Mistress asked and her heels clicked against the concrete as she walked away from the sub and towards the table where her tools lay. “How many times must I educate you on proper manners?”

Fear bloomed in the sub’s lower belly and she listened intently, trying to separate sounds into objects but she could not. She had to force herself not to turn her head to see what Mistress was doing—to do so would cause Mistress to end the scene. That was a breach of etiquette that she would not tolerate under any circumstances. As the heels came clicking back, the sub’s breath became ragged and quick.

Mistress stood in front of her and her eyes were cold and not amused when she spoke. “You are going to count. Do you understand?”

“I’m sorry,” the sub whispered on a shaking breath.

“You are going to be more sorry,” Mistress said rudely. “But you will also be more educated. I am doing this for your own good. You did not listen. Is it my fault you did not listen?”

“No, ma’am,” the sub whispered as tears spurted down her cheeks. “I will be good now. I promise, please…”

“Five,” Mistress said, and the sub knew there would be no relenting. There never was, and if Mistress had let her off the hook, so to speak, she would have felt a lack of respect for her. A Mistress who did not know how to properly punish was a Mistress who did not know how to properly reward either. “Ask for it right now.”

A sob came welling up. It drowned her first attempt to speak. Mistress waited, the flogger swirling impatiently in her right hand and her eyes set and grim as she watched her sub struggle.

“Please give me the first one, Mistress.” She wept and the flogger made of soft, knotted strands of the same soft silk rope that tied the sub sang out. It was a light tool, suitable for warm-up, but if wielded by an expert such as Mistress it could also inflict painful but not damaging punishment. The sub screamed as it struck against her tender genitalia but she did not flee from it; to do so would be to invite greater punishment. Her eyes were blinded by tears but she knew her own actions had brought her to this. “Thank you,” she wailed. “Thank you, please, can I have the second?”

Fire licked against the sensitive skin of her pubic mound. It was fierce, primal and it hurt; it hurt and the sub could not escape from that pain. She was not being allowed to escape into her subspace, to detach, to translate the pain into ecstasy. The count and the humiliation of it, of having offended and having to be punished for her offense, kept her from that space. Her legs shook and she screamed in agony but she counted and the strands of the flogger came down until she was done with that count and the final thank-you was said.

Instantly she collapsed. Her body sagged and her head fell forward. Tears drowned her face. She hung there, trying to breathe, trying to release her misery and waiting for her Mistress to approve of her once more.

“Are you ready to behave?” Mistress asked. She had to turn her head so her sub would not see just how excited she was. The punishment had sparked her interest and lust but she would not show that. To do so would be to lose control. If she could not control herself, she could certainly not control her sub.

The sub looked up. To her, the way the Mistress stood with her head casually turned from her, said disinterest and displeasure. She felt an immediate need to ensure her Mistress felt pleasure, that she was satisfied.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m ready to behave now,” she said in the meek, little-girl voice she knew was preferred after a punishment.

“Really?” Mistress felt good. She decided to tease her pretty little pet for a moment. “Are you sure? I mean, are you really, really sure? Because I do not want to waste time with you if you are unable to behave. If you do not behave, you don’t get to come. Are you willing to behave?”

“Yes,” the sub said eagerly and she could feel her space realigning, could feel the pain fading and the lust coming back. “Yes, I am ready to behave for you. I will, Mistress, I promise.”

“And are you ready to come?” Mistress asked as she took a step closer, crowding the sub, denying her personal space and daring her to move all at once.

The sub stood her ground and her eyes half closed with desire as she whispered, “Yes…yes…”

“Hmmm…” Mistress put a finger to her chin and narrowed her eyes. When she spoke her voice was considering and low, and no hint of the prankishness she was feeling lay in it. “Should I let you come? I mean, you did misbehave so badly…”

The sub knew better than to beg right then. Mistress was capricious, and she might simply leave her hanging for an hour, then untie her and order her to sleep naked and cold and alone on the floor all night if she felt her sub was being too eager. Then again, she might do the same if she thought she was not being eager enough. It was a risky thing either way.

“I am sorry,” the sub said humbly and waited to see if that simple declaration would be enough.

Mistress grabbed her by her hair, turning her head viciously to the right. “You are worthless, you little slut,” she snarled, then pinched her nipples, twisting and gripping until the sub screamed and began to cry all over again.

“Nice tears,” Mistress jeered and slid her fingers inside her sub’s soaked pussy, moving in and out slowly, then faster, gauging the reaction. When the sub began to tremble and whimper, when her pussy began to clench and throb, she withdrew, leaving her dangling on the edge of an orgasm.

“Please! Please, Mistress! Please, can I come?”

“No,” Mistress said and smiled to herself when the sub began to groan and beg, her heavy-lidded eyes locked onto hers in a desperate plea.

Mistress walked over to the table, tossed aside her flogger, and picked up her crop. It was a serious tool, one that gave significant pain, and she weighed it in her hand for a moment before making up her mind.

“Say you love me, darling,” she instructed as she walked back to her sub and brought the crop down. A thin red welt appeared on the pale, rounded ass cheeks. She watched with pleasure as the sub instinctively thrust backwards. The easiest way to weed out wannabes from subs was to give them a good hard whack with a belt or hand or whip. The ones who moved towards the pain were subs, the others were Saturday-night wannabe freaks who didn’t deserve her treatment.

The pain came but it brought pleasure with it. The two things melded, became one, and the sub screamed out, “I love you, Mistress,” as the crop came down again, bringing her closer to the brink of her orgasm.

Mistress marked her well. She was experienced and she knew just how to hit and how hard. She never wrapped her subs, never left marks she did not intend to leave, never lost her cool or her control, and she let the sub come all the way to the brink again before backing off, watching the writhing woman twist and arch in a wordless and anguished want.

“When you get yourself under control, we will begin again,” she said and walked away.

The sub was left there with her body fighting itself. One part of her knew if she came right then as she so badly wanted to, she would be punished by not being allowed to have the rest of the scene, but the other part of her craved an orgasm anyway.

Mistress leaned against the table. The sub fought herself and listened to the metallic spin of the lighter wheel being struck, the inhale of smoke. She grounded herself with those sounds, using them to regain control of herself.

When she could speak, she said, “I am under control,” in the calmest voice she could manage. She stood there waiting, her rock-hard nipples pointing at the ceiling and her legs aching from the effort.

Mistress ground her cigarette out on the floor, crushing the cherry beneath her booted heel. She let the sub wait it out, let her wonder while she selected the largest dildo in her collection for her harness. She hummed tunelessly as she approached the sub. She slapped the reddened skin of her sub’s ass twice, then lightly scratched her again, liking the way the skin turned pale, then filled with blood rushing back to the surface.

She sauntered in front of the sub, letting her see the harness and the dildo, letting her eyes take it in, measure it, and want it. She reached up, yanked the knotted rope tied around the wrists down from the hook, then tangled her hands into the sub’s hair, yanking and tugging. Wordlessly she shoved the sub to the floor, hearing the whimpers and the small gasps as the sub went down.

“I wanna hear you scream,” she said as she positioned the sub with her wrists stretched out on front of her and her legs open wide, her ass high in the air and her face pressed into the floor. “Do you hear me? If you want my cock, you will fucking scream for me.”

She forced her fingers into the sub’s mouth, watching as the sub opened her mouth wider and wider, licking and sucking at her knuckles, her saliva running down the Mistress’s hand in clear streams.

The sub gave a long moan and cried out when Mistress inserted her fingers into her one by one. She pushed them in, not rushing, not shoving, just putting more of her hand inside the sub’s willing and open pussy with every back and forth movement.

Her whole hand was inside now. The wetness of it, the heat, was intense and Mistress had to catch her own breath and hold it for a moment before she could speak. She concentrated on the way her fingers were curling up, the feel of concrete under knees, and when she had control of herself she said, “You like that, bitch? Do you like my fist in your pussy?”

The pain was deep, the sub’s pelvic bone ached, and her pussy felt stretched to the tearing point. She felt that pain but she also felt the utterly delicious fullness that came from being taken so completely. Her mouth opened and a long scream of surrender echoed across the room as she babbled out, “Yes, yes, yes,” over and over again.

“Yeah, you do love it. You are such a whore,” Mistress said and her laughter was loud and cruel, but her sub knew the endorphin rush burning through her was burning through her Mistress as well, and that laughter was just one more way to release the wildly careening emotions they were both experiencing. The sub whimpered and begged and Mistress pumped harder, working herself in farther until the sub screamed with need and misery.

“No, you can’t come yet,” Mistress said and the hand withdrew, leaving the sub gasping and sobbing for release. Her cries were heard and appreciated by the Mistress but they were also ignored. She was back at the table, wiping her hand on the towel she kept there and picking up her favorite whip, a stinging Australian single tail. She walked with it in her hand, trying out its supple length by snapping it softly as she approached. She saw the muscles running and jumping under the sub’s thighs and knew the sub could hear the soft whicker and whir of that whip as she tested it.

The whip snapped through the air, precision and skill blending, and the sub screamed and her ass cheeks clenched for one moment but she loosened them in a hurry when the whip came down again, reminding her she was there for her Mistress to punish.

“Do you like that?” Mistress demanded. “Do you like the way I beat you, you worthless little whore?”

“Yes, Mistress,” the sub wept, and her body began to slide once more towards orgasm. “Please, I love it when you beat me, please, ma’am, please, I want it…please, I will be good…I…”

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Mistress asked and the sub screamed out, “Yes, please! Please!”

Mistress stepped back to her tools. She laid the whip aside and picked up the untied lengths of rope and the vibrator.

“Get on your feet,” she said as she walked, taking a perverse pleasure in watching her sub struggle to right herself and stand. She flexed and bowed upwards like she was performing yoga and when she got to her feet, Mistress commanded her to go to the chair that sat by itself on a small section of floor near a corner.

The chair was a plain, high-backed wooden thing with wide, high arms. Its feet had been set into poured concrete and the back of it was laced with chains to keep it from tilting over during games. The arms of it had been worn smooth by years of body parts rubbing against them. The sub felt the familiar satiny texture beneath her thighs as her legs were pushed far back into her chest, then over the arms. Her legs were lashed there. She was tied so that she was spread-eagled. Her breath caught in her throat and she whimpered in pleasure.

The cool air drifted across her crotch and licked its heat, and she wriggled slightly when Mistress was not looking, trying to scratch that itch just a little.

Mistress smiled as she asked, “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” the sub breathed. “I want your cock, Mistress. Please put it inside me.”

“You want this big cock inside your pussy, don’t you? You fucking slut.” Mistress shoved her cock in. She went hard and fast, no waiting, and the sub moaned and arched her back without thinking. But Mistress gave her a hard slap across the right cheek to make her focus and remember her manners.

There was only sensation. The feeling of the cock inside her, the wetness pooling around her ass, the feel of the rope, and the sound of her moans and sobs. The vibrator purred onto her clit and she felt her eyes rolling backwards. Her cries became frantic, keening, and she felt the loss of all control, all thought. All there was was the Mistress and being fucked. It was enough.

“You wanna come?” Mistress asked. She was watching her sub’s face carefully. The tears and the ecstasy mingled there, the open mouth and the rolled-back eyes. She could have been about to come or die, it was hard to say, and Mistress felt the base of the dildo rubbing against the base of her rock-hard clit and had to grit her teeth to keep from giving herself away to the sub.

“Yes,” the sub shouted. “Yes, I fucking do, please let me come…please let me come now…”

“Yes, you come right now, you come so fucking hard!” Mistress demanded and the sub’s cries rose as she came in huge waves, her come sliding over the enormous cock that was stretching her wide, splashing onto the vibrator that was sending searing sensations along her clit and pouring down into the chair.

Mistress let her come. She kept fucking her harder and deeper. She had delayed the sub’s orgasm deliberately, wanting this very effect and she smiled as she drove in and out of the steadily pulsing pussy.

The sub moaned and wept. Her body tightened and loosened, her head hung sideways, and Mistress yanked her upright by the collar, forcing her to open her eyes to look at her while she came so she would always know who it was who owned her.

When it was over, Mistress turned tender. She untied the ropes slowly, massaged the sub’s aching thighs until she thought she could stand, then helped her to her feet. They went to the corner where the mattress lay and the sub lay on it face down while Mistress rubbed sweet-smelling salve into the skin that was hurt and marked.

They cuddled and clung while the afterglow held them in its warm, sleepy limbed grasp. It lasted long and they began to talk. How was this? How was that? Should I use a thinner whip or do you like…do I?…Do you…? Need….want…love….?

Eventually they began to return to themselves, to shed the headspace that they resided in there in the basement.

Caroline turned her head and stared into Hannah’s soft, sweet eyes and she felt a huge wave of total love for her. It was so calming and beautiful that she began to cry softly.

“Shhhh…” Hannah cooed as she rocked Caroline’s body in her round white arms. “Hush, darling, it is okay now.”

“I love you.” Caroline sobbed and she wrapped her own arms around Hannah and held her tightly. “Say you know I love you and would never hurt you.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Hannah whispered and her hands traced Caroline’s bare flesh as she asked the question she needed answered the most. “Do I hurt you?”

“Never.” Caroline smiled through her tears and kissed Hannah’s hands, kissed the hands of her lover, her partner, her Mistress, and friend. “You never, ever have.”

“You know, I think that egg crating and foam needs to be replaced on that wall,” Hannah said casually a few minutes later as they were cleaning up their gear and scene. “It would not do for the neighbors to hear us down here.”

“Yeah, they would think we were killing each other,” Caroline joked. “Can you imagine their horror? They would probably think we were complete freaks. We would have to move, at the very least.”

“I imagine the things that go on in the most vanilla queer’s bedroom would make most straight people’s flesh creep,” Hannah said matter-of-factly. “I mean, by its very definition, what we do is queer.”

They laughed while they headed back upstairs and as Hannah stood at the door to the dungeon room she asked, “So how about a big spaghetti dinner as a welcome home?” Her hand came out and turned off the light, then it swung shut the door, leaving the dungeon in total silence.

No Love, No Glove

by Giselle Renarde

“Come to bed,” Nicky pleaded. Why should she have to plead at all? Four years ago, Dragica would have jumped at any opportunity.

“Just a minute,” Dragica off-handedly replied. Her office chair creaked like a bad back. She didn’t even glance away from the computer screen. “I’m right in the middle of this…of this…”

Nicky waited for any indication of life from her unresponsive girlfriend. Nope. Nothing. “Fine,” Nicky said. Turning in bed, she punched her pillow down and repeated, “Fine. That’s just…fine!”

“Huh?” Dragica muttered. Her chair creaked as she shifted slightly. “I’ll do it in the morning.”

“You’re not even listening to me!” Nicky flipped in bed, tearing the covers from her bare legs. She then changed her mind and cast them back over herself.

“The recycling,” Dragica said, slow and calm as a Gregorian chant. “I’ll take it out in the morning.” Her eyes never shifted from the computer screen.

At an utter loss, Nicky gave her pillow another good thumping. She reclined, fuming, for no more than twenty seconds before reaching into the night table. “Fine,” she said again, pulling out the gloves and slamming the drawer.

Nicky sat straight up in bed and laid the black spandex opera gloves out in front of herself. Was it dirty pool? Maybe. She knew the only surefire way to get her inattentive woman into bed was to put on the gloves, so that’s what she would do. Hell, after so many months of nothing she was ready to pull out all the stops.

Dragica seemed to spot Nicky in her peripheral vision—or, rather, she seemed to spot the gloves, because she perked for a moment and turned in Nicky’s direction. Her brow furled and she turned back to the computer before saying, “You can’t just put on your damn gloves and expect me to jump into bed when I’m in the middle of something.”

“Yes, I can.” That was the whole point—her butch babe couldn’t resist Nicky in a sleek pair of opera gloves. She picked up the long left-hand glove and rolled the stretchy fabric. When Dragica again offered no reaction, she slid her fingers and her thumb into the tight black holes. God, it felt good to get this baby against her skin! She rolled the fabric up her forearm, past her elbow and all the way to her bicep. She’d forgotten how sexy the gloves made her feel. No wonder Dragica couldn’t resist her in them.

Still no reaction from the computer desk. Nicky’s blood began to simmer in her veins. Her neck felt hot. “Hello? Bonjour? Glove sur hand. Ou est ma girlfriend?”

“I’m right here,” Dragica mumbled like an arrogant brat. “Obviously.”

Nicky snapped. “That’s it! I want the computer out of the bedroom. I can’t take this anymore.”

“What?” Dragica was obviously confused, but at least she was looking at Nicky now. “You’re the one who told me to bring it in here in the first place!”

As she pursed her lips, Nicky felt her eyes blazing. She was sure they were going to shoot out of her head in a couple of seconds and launch an aerial attack on her girlfriend. What Dragica said was true, but at the time Nicky’d had her reasons. Now all she could think of was excuses. “It isn’t healthy to have so much electricity flowing through the bedroom. The computer, the printer, the modem—all that stuff sends currents through your body while you sleep. It damages your cells.”

Dragica raised an eyebrow. “Pseudo science.”

“That’s not the point,” Nicky countered. Nearing a rage, she clenched her fist and her black glove tightened between her fingers. “I just don’t want it in here.”

When Dragica spun her chair around and sighed, she seemed more perplexed than argumentative, and Nicky’s tightly coiled stomach eased up a touch. “If you don’t want it here, why did you specifically ask me to bring it in here? I just can’t understand what’s going on with you when you pull this shit.”

Nicky had to give in. How could she keep up the argument when she knew her woman was right? “I’m sorry,” Nicky moaned. Picking up the second glove, she entwined her bare fingers in its satiny grasp. “I just wanted you close to me. You kept sneaking in from the den at two, three in the morning, and creeping into bed like you didn’t want to wake me up. I was like, ‘What the hell is she doing in there that’s keeping her up so late and making her look so guilty?’”

“Guilty?” Dragica laughed like she couldn’t understand where the accusation came from. “You know I’m working, woman. You’ve seen it for yourself.”

“Yeah, I know.” Nicky rolled down the second glove and planted her fingers deep inside. “But I thought if you brought the computer in here, you might remember I existed. Obviously that plan didn’t work.”

Dragica’s eyebrows rose in surprise, then sank at the sides. She looked full of pity as she gazed back at her computer screen. “Oh, Nicky,” she said. “Oh, Nicky.” And, reaching for the button at the back of the flat-screen monitor, she shut it down in one fell swoop.

The office chair squeaked as Dragica wheeled herself over to the side of the bed. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Nicky shrugged.

“You know I don’t pick up on the subtle stuff,” Dragica gently reminded her. “At the end of the day, I’m just another dumb guy. They should write me into a sitcom, I’m so clueless!”

“But can’t you see that’s a failing? I ask you to come to bed and you don’t even hear me. Why is everything such a struggle with us, Draga? Why is nothing ever easy?”

Without answer or hesitation, Dragica stood up from her chair and reached across the bed. Gasping, Dragica pinched the hem of Nicky’s one loose glove and pulled it slowly up her arm, up past her elbow, until it covered her bicep. “My God,” she mumbled as Nicky kicked the covers down to her feet. “You look…wow!”

There was nothing that turned Nicky on more than that look of awe in Dragica’s eyes—well, aside from a good pair of gloves. But what her inattentive girlfriend never seemed to realize was that she wore something like this to bed every night, just waiting for Dragica to notice. She would never ’fess up to the amount of money she spent on lingerie—the girl would go ballistic. Tonight it was the bedroom dress with black lycra cups snuggling her breasts together like a familiar pair of hands. The gathered burgundy satin below did a nice job of concealing the belly fat she didn’t like Draga seeing—not that Dragica didn’t have flab of her own. They were both big girls, which is probably why they’d always felt so comfortable together. Even when they argued, Nicky knew they were a “forever” couple. She knew they’d come through it.

“I love my butch bottom,” Nicky cooed, rolling on to her side and patting the spot next to herself on the bed.

Dragica tsked her teeth as she tore out of her clothes. “Don’t call me that.” Her threadbare retro T-shirt and track pants fell to the floor. Dragica never wore a bra at home, and her big brown tits swung loose as she pushed off her cotton panties.

When Nicky wore the gloves, she could win any dispute. “That’s what you are, babe—my big, beautiful butch bottom!”

A glimmer of a smirk drew across Dragica’s lips as she stood up straight. Naked. It wasn’t often Nicky called her beautiful. “Yeah, well…don’t say it out loud.”

Nicky only chuckled as Draga snuck in beside her, on her back, dark nipples hardening in anticipation. When she looked up at Nicky, Nicky kissed her lips sweetly and pet her cheeks with both gloved hands. Dragica gasped at the sensation of smooth-as-silk spandex against her face. She never seemed to understand that everything felt just as good for Nicky—after all, she had that fabric draped across both arms and enclosing each finger in a tight black prison. The sensation blew her body’s mind every time.

Dragica let out a big sigh and closed her eyes. When Nicky knew her woman was receptive enough to accept, she pressed her thumb between those two full lips and past Draga’s teeth. Without even opening her eyes, Dragica sucked and Nicky’s whole body felt warm. Her heart beat stronger in her chest.

As Draga sucked her thumb, Nicky traced her fingers down that beautiful neck. Most people probably wouldn’t look at her girlfriend and find Dragica beautiful as a whole, but Nicky found every part beautiful in its own right. The collarbone she drew her fingers along was certainly the most spectacular collarbone she’d ever laid eyes on, and Draga’s chest glowed honey-brown. But those breasts—oh, those breasts! They were just so big, so natural, so perfect.

When Nicky withdrew her thumb, Dragica’s eyes opened wide just in time to see Nicky slap both big tits. Nicky smacked her nipples first and Draga’s breasts recoiled, bouncing upward. As those orbs of flesh jiggled, Nicky spanked them again. She smacked their round sides. Those perfect tits flew together to meet in the middle, whacked against each other, and rebounded back toward Nicky’s waiting hands. When she slapped them again, Draga whined, “Let me suck!”

“Don’t be a child,” Nicky scolded. “You’ll suck when I let you suck.” And she pinched one nipple between her finger and her wet thumb while she spanked the other tit twelve times fast with her spandex glove. Switch. She pinched the other nipple and smacked the first with the greatest speed she could muster.

Dragica’s honey-brown tits were turning red now. Her nipples stood erect like two fleshy little soldiers. Those tits were still jiggling when Nicky shoved two dry fingertips into Draga’s mouth. Her woman burbled thanks as she sucked, and within moments Nicky’s fingers were wet with the warm saliva bleeding through her black gloves. Nicky couldn’t deny the pleasure of it all when Draga slipped that hot pink tongue of hers between two spandex fingers. The pelvis-warming sensation nearly sent Nicky off the deep end, but she held it together as she cupped a big tit in her hand and squeezed. Dragica bucked her hips up and sucked harder, like a baby with a spandex bottle.

“You’ve been such a cunt these past few months,” Nicky moaned.

Through Nicky’s fingers, Dragica mumbled, “I know!”

Shaking her head in dismay, Nicky traced dry fingers down the ample flesh of Draga’s belly. “We’re in the same room, and still you’re never around.”

“I’m sorry!” Mumble, mumble.

True, she looked sorry enough. Dragica’s eyebrows drew up in the middle like a woeful puppy dog, but still. “You need to learn.” And without delay, Nicky brought her dry glove down on Draga’s black bush.

With a moan, Dragica opened her thighs to welcome a more intimate smack. Nicky did not spurn the invitation. She smacked her woman’s pink pussy once, twice, three times, and watched Draga jump slightly in response.

“Are you learning?” Nicky asked, bringing down her wrath on Dragica’s erect clit.

Draga recoiled and bounced against the mattress. “Yes.”

Trapping Draga’s clit between her gloved thumb and index finger, Nicky squeezed. Hard. Dragica squealed and writhed as Nicky pressed back and forth on that squishy bud of pure sensitivity.

Nicky spanked Draga’s clit four, five, six times before pressing it again between her thumb and forefinger. “What are you learning?”

“Not to ignore you?” Draga asked.

A statement would have been preferable to a question. Nicky slapped Draga’s pink pussy three more times. “Not to take me for granted.”

“I’m sorry, Nicky. I won’t—not anymore.” Draga held Nicky’s wrist with both hands and sucked fast on those two wet fingers. Perhaps it was time to get a few more fingers wet. Nicky released Draga’s clit and slipped her fingers down into the juice below. Man, was there a lot of it! Though, as Nicky squirmed slightly in her ruched satin dress, she realized how wet she’d become while Dragica sucked her fingers. It was the gloves—they did the trick every time. What luck they had, to share a common fetish.

Pressing her thumb down against Draga’s clit, Nicky slipped one spandex finger into her wet slit. Dragica squeezed her wrist until she was sure her hand was turning purple inside that glove. Didn’t matter. Draga’s cunt was so juicy she slid her middle finger into that hot hole without any trouble. Why not try for a third? Nicky pushed her ring finger inside, and Dragica moaned.

Nicky was stretched across Dragica’s body, one hand in her mouth, one hand in her pussy. She shoved three fat fingers inside, working her girl’s clit with her thumb all the while. Draga’s pussy muscles clamped down as she writhed her hips against the mattress and moaned. All Nicky could do was withdraw her gloved fingers almost all the way, then force them straight back into Draga’s wet snatch. Again and again, she rammed her woman with three fingers, letting her pinkie brush Dragica’s asshole with every plunge. Clit, pussy, asshole—fingers for all!

The wetness from Draga’s pussy juice seeped in through Nicky’s gloves and soaked her fingers. With wild drive, she pushed those three fingers far inside and turned her hand back and forth like a juicer. Dragica loved it. She planted her feet on the mattress and lifted her hips up off the bed. The ample flesh of her belly and her tits rippled as she bucked up against Nicky’s hand, and she moaned and squealed even as she sucked.

Nicky could finger-fuck with the best of them. She toyed with that begging clit even as she reamed Draga’s cunt. Hard. With each collision of fingers and pussy, she made sure to strike Draga’s asshole too. Stimulation of three points of interest would have brought her to orgasm soon, but Nicky knew how to crash the wave now. She fell forward against Draga’s breast and sucked a pert nipple into her mouth. The very moment tongue met tit, Dragica exploded with orgasmic energy. She bucked like crazy up at Nicky’s hand and squeezed tighter on Nicky’s wrist. Finally, she tore Nicky’s fingers from her mouth to shriek and beg. She held her hips perfectly still high above the mattress while Nicky kept at her engorged clit.

Finally, Dragical squealed, “No! Oh my God, no more!” Slapping her thighs closed, she turned away from Nicky in bed, lying on her side as she trembled and sighed. “That was amazing. That was incredible.”

With two wet hands, Nicky turned off the lights and wrapped her arms around the woman she’d satisfied so well. When Draga came that hard, Nicky felt it not only in her body, but in her heart and spirit as well. She left the gloves on and cupped Dragica’s big naked breasts. Draga sighed. Nicky sighed. Draga giggled. So did Nicky.

“That really was amazing,” Dragica repeated, snuggling her backside closer to Nicky.

“In the morning, you’ll have to wash my gloves.” Nicky pulled the sheet up to cover them before kissing Draga’s shoulder. “Because there’s going to be much more of this after you’ve moved that computer.”

Reaching back to squeeze Nicky’s ass, Dragica released a decadent sigh. “I’d do anything for you.”

The Domination Of Rubberella

by Thomma Finland

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who’s the kinkiest bitch of all?” she asked. Slowly. Softly. Ruby red lips inches from mine.

“That’s the wrong story. We’re not doing Rubber White tonight. I’m Rubberella.”

“Did I give you permission to correct me, slave?” She hissed like a cobra. “You’re a bad little slave girl. And bad little slave girls have to be punished.”

She tightened the leather restraints on my wrists and ankles. My heart fluttered and my stomach knotted excitedly but I kept my face blank. With one hard kick from her heavy stilettos she forced my legs apart wider. Still I did nothing. Looking straight ahead, I concentrated on breathing evenly and showing absolutely no emotion.

“You’ve got a strong will, slave,” she whispered, the tip of her tongue tickling my earlobe. I don’t know how I didn’t shudder. “It will be my great pleasure to break you of it.”

Her hands skillfully glided over the skin tight rubber suit that hugged my body. Only my tits and pussy were exposed to the world. She was careful not to touch my naked flesh. It was torture. I wanted her. Desperately. I needed her to worship my body.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, slave,” she demanded, wrapping my hair around her fist tightly and pulling it. I couldn’t help but gasp as my head shot back. She laughed and descended upon my neck like a vampire, sensuously licking it.

“That’s what I like to hear. Moan again, slave,” she commanded, pulling my hair once more. I was silent.

“Do not disobey me,” she warned, tightening her grip on my hair and giving a small warning tug. “Let’s not forget who’s tied up. Now, moan for your queen.”

With one hard yank she pulled my head back. Unable to stop myself I cried out. My moans echoed off the walls, making her smile. We kissed passionately, grinding our bare pussies against each other. Her moist tongue entered my mouth and flicked against mine. My hair was still wrapped around her fist. My pussy was wet and throbbing with erotic need.

“Don’t try to resist me,” she moaned into my mouth. Her fingers continued to roam over my rubber suit. She pinched my hard nipples. “Give yourself to me. Completely.” She shoved her middle finger deep inside me. I couldn’t help but moan and rise up on my toes like a ballerina, fingers clenching and unclenching orgasmically. “Totally,” she slowly, torturously, finger-fucked me. “Forever,” she whispered into my mouth before kissing me and pinching my pussy lips.

“Oh my God,” I gasped, eyes rolling back in my head.

“Did I give you permission to speak? My…beautiful Rubberella.” Her voice was a whisper on the wind as her long blood-red nails lovingly caressed my cheek before slapping it hard. She smiled at hearing my shocked, aroused cry.

Cupping my face in her hands she slowly ran her tongue over the spot where she had slapped me. As she licked my wound, her fingers got lost in my thick honeysuckle-blond hair.

Closing my eyes, I breathed in and out. In and out. The suit was getting hotter, tighter, as my arousal reached its boiling point. I loved it. My leg muscles flexed and my arms tingled as she kissed my tender, tingling cheek.

“Such a beautiful little slave,” she said, standing back and admiring me. “Such beautiful tits. Perfect nipples. A nice, juicy pussy. All for me.”

As she looked at me, her hands absentmindedly ran over her body, a delicious rich dark chocolate. Except for the thigh-high stilettos, she was completely nude.

My eyes greedily drank in her beauty. I never grew tired of her body. Her full, pouty lips. Large, natural tits with the largest nipples I’ve ever seen on a woman. Plump, round ass and the tightest pussy God ever made. I was truly lucky. Not only to have the most beautiful girlfriend in the world but one who was almost as kinky as me. Maybe that’s why we had been together almost thirty years. We were able to keep the sex new, fresh, and exciting. Plus, we still looked damn good for women approaching fifty.

Slowly she turned around, body undulating like a serpent and bent over, giving me a great view of her ass. Her pretty pussy peeked out at me from between her thighs. I was wet as I gazed at her with lustful hunger. Gazing over her shoulder she winked coyly at me as her hand slithered over her ass. She spanked herself several times, making the flesh jiggle hypnotically. Her long nails tickled her inviting hole before she slowly slid her pinkie inside her ass. Using the palm of her other hand she rhythmically massaged her pussy for several minutes before licking her palm.

Removing her pinkie from her ass she ran it over her lips temptingly and slowly walked over to me. She reminded me of a she-wolf stalking its prey.

Pressing her pinkie against my lips we both licked it. My pussy tingled and I nearly came the moment I tasted her sweet ass.

Slowly she slid down my body. Her tongue licked the rubber suit, making my skin shudder with pleasurable sparks. When she reached my tits she attacked them like a piranha. My back arched and my nails dug into my palms as she licked my sensitive rose-colored nipples and pulled them lovingly between her teeth. Squeezing my tits together, she batted at them, reminding me of the way our cat bats at his toy mouse that hangs on a string. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Is there something funny about what I am doing, slave?” she asked, glaring.

“No. Sorry, my queen.” I couldn’t stop giggling. The image of that damn cat and his toy was still fresh in my mind.

“Are you mocking me, bitch?” she asked, slapping me. “For your sake,” she said, placing her hands around my throat and licking my lips, “I sincerely hope you aren’t making fun of my authority.”

“I’m sorry, my beautiful queen,” I said, drowning in her beautiful emerald green eyes. “I would never disrespect or mock you. An outside image came into my mind.”

She studied me. We were silent for eons. My heart thudded against the tight suit. Finally, a smile slowly spread across her lips.

“Every queen deserves a slave like you.” I smiled. “But I still must punish you for laughing, for thinking about the outside world and for smiling at that compliment. I must teach you that good slaves are humble and give their queens their undivided attention.”

Walking over to her chest of toys, she rummaged through it before pulling out a large velvet paddle. She studied it for a long time before gently slapping it against her ass a couple times.

“Yes,” she said, satisfied. “This will do nicely.”

Gulping, I watched her walk toward me, never taking her eyes from mine. Kneeling behind me, she ran the paddle over my ass before slapping it several times, each time increasing the strength of the blow. I moaned and groaned with every hit. I loved to be spanked and—though I would never tell her—sometimes during our sessions I would be bad just so she would have to spank me.

Getting on her knees in front of me, she stared intensely at my pussy before slapping it with her palm. Moaning, my back arched and my toes curled, getting tickled by the thick shag carpet as she continued her pleasurable punishment.

Slapping my rubber-clad ass, still tender from the spanking, she pulled me toward her, burying her face deep in my pussy. Biting my pussy lips, she ran her tongue slowly over my pussy until, like a blossoming rose, it opened for her. My breath caught at that first glorious moment of her moist juicy tongue finally entering me. Grinding my hips against her face I threw my head back and moaned with animalistic pleasure. The tip of her tongue was directly on my clit. Teasing it. Massaging it. My knees buckled. Thank God I was tied up or I would have fainted.

Her hands gripped my ass tighter, nails digging into the suit. She slapped my cheeks and I smiled at the feel of them jiggling against the rubber.

She munched on my snatch like it was becoming extinct. I ground my moist cunt against her face even harder.

My legs wobbled. My eyes bugged out. A high falsetto moan cascaded over my lips as I came all over her delicate features.

Her face glistened in the moonlight that was sneaking in through the blinds as she smiled up at me. Slowly she rose and caressed my cheeks. My hair. My body.

“Good little slave.”

She kissed me and I moaned. I always loved the taste of my come. Especially mixed with her lips. It was sweet, like honey.

“Since you were such a good little slave and came for your queen like good little slaves should…I have a present for you.”

I almost started jumping up and down like a child on Christmas morning. Her presents were the best!

She left me in horny anticipation, and returned a few seconds later. When I saw what she was holding I grinned and greedily licked my lips. It was the longest, thickest, two-headed dildo I had ever seen.

As she walked back to me, she beat one end against her pussy and sucked on the other end, causing me to salivate lustfully. Gulping with anticipation, I could only imagine what fun games she had in store for us.

“Do you like this?” she asked, running it all over my face.

“Mmm…” was all I could muster.

“You want this inside you?”

I wanted to shout out yes and beg her to fuck me with that big two-headed monster but all I could do was moan, “Mmm…”

“That doesn’t sound like a yes to me,” she said teasingly as she slowly licked the head of it. “Now, I’m going to ask you one more time,” she said, running the sex toy over my body. Slowly. Sensuously. Torturously. “Do you want this inside you?”

She rested the tip of it on my pussy and I nearly exploded.

“Yes!” I was finally able to say. “Yes. Yes. Yes. I want it inside me, my queen.”

“Do you want me to fuck you with this?”

“Yes.”

“Should I make you come with this?”

“Yes! Oh! God! Please! Yes!”

“Well, you have been a very good little slave,” she said, smiling at me. “I suppose I can reward you and make you come with this.”

Smirking, I bit my lips. I couldn’t wait to feel that monster stretch out my pussy. And since it was two-headed, we could fuck each other at the same time! That was always my favorite.

My pussy puckered excitedly as the first cool drops of lube sprinkled onto it. The strong scent of vanilla filled the room and gently caressed my nostrils. She had gotten a new flavor. Yummy!

The dildo was glistening. She rubbed the head against my pussy before slowly sliding it inside me. My mouth opened in a silent orgasmic wow! It was so big.

She only gave me a few seconds to get used to it before her pussy engulfed the other end.

We were still, getting lost in each other’s eyes. Her fingernails playfully tickled my palm and we both giggled.

As one we moved our hips back and forth. Kissing passionately, we tongued the hell out of each other. Increasing our speed, my stomach tightened as I felt another orgasm about to overtake me. Moaning, I screamed out her name and wouldn’t you know it, right when I was about to have the orgasm of my life, the bitch stopped.

“Please,” I breathlessly begged. “Don’t stop. I’m so close.”

She smirked smugly. “Let’s not forget who’s the slave and who’s the queen. You come when I say you come.”

Removing the toy from her cunt. she turned around and stuck it in her ass. I watched, amazed, that she was able to take it all.

Once her ass had adjusted to the sex toy we resumed our fucking. She had three fingers buried in her pussy, rapidly pleasuring herself. She was moving so fast her fingers were a blur.

Biting my lips I felt my heart rate increase and my stomach tingled, knotting erotically as another orgasm ravaged me. I almost passed out, it was so intense. Moments later, she came with a satisfied groan.

We were still, enjoying the way our bodies quivered with minute erotic aftershocks. Slowly she removed the dildo from our bodies. Staring me deep in the eyes, she kissed me once more.

She untied me and my arms finally encircled her body and squeezed her tight against me. My hands explored her body, satisfying their craving for the feel of her skin.

After I had stripped off the suit, she held my hand securely in hers and led me into the bathroom. With the soothing water raining down upon us, we made love in that shower until there wasn’t any hot water left in the tank.

“I love you. My beautiful slave,” she said, smiling at me and holding me after we had dried each other off and gotten into bed.

“And I love you. My beautiful queen.”

We had shared so much. Friendship. Fights. Marriage. Children. And now, grandchildren.

“I am so glad I get to live happily ever after with you. My kinky Rubberella.”

I giggled. I still remembered when she had given me that nickname. The first time we had gone to a rubber club on a trip we took to San Francisco. The memory was so fresh, even though it felt like it had happened a lifetime ago.

“Me too, beautiful. Me too,” I whispered, squeezing her tight and kissing her forehead.

It wasn’t long before we were fast asleep with the soft lavender blue light from the full moon falling softly upon us like a spotlight illuminating the stars of a play.

About the Authors

J.V. Altharas has been a storyteller since an early age through fiction, poetry, and song. Recently a song written and recorded years ago led him back to fiction after a long break from publication. His primary focus as an author is erotic fiction that explores the psychology and practices of BDSM. Current projects include TwistedErotica.com, an erotica podcast in conjunction with the website, and a collection of short stories to introduce the characters in The Price of Mercy.

Louisa Bacio started reading A. N. Roquelaure’s Sleeping Beauty series at an impressionable age, and has been hooked on erotic romance ever since. She believes everyone should have a little love and a lot of pleasure in their lives. Bacio enjoys soaking up the sun in Southern California, and spending time with her family. For more thrills, check out Bacio’s debut erotic thriller Sex University: Physical Education. Her story Two’s Company can be found in I Kissed a Girl: A Virgin Lesbian Anthology, and The Wait can be read in Rekindled Fire: An Anthology of Reunited Lovers. Drop in for a visit at http://louisabacio.blogspot.com/.

Thomma Finland is the pen name of a full-time actor and writer currently living in Hollywood, California. Thomma Finland’s work has appeared in Tight Ends, Once Upon A Threesome, Frat Sex II, The Mammoth Book Of The Karma Sutra, and Cougars On The Prowl, as well as stories scheduled to appear in Homo Thugs, Video Boys, Boy Fun, and Black Fire.

Dorla Moorehouse is a writer and dancer living in Austin, Texas. Her fiction has most recently appeared in Eat Me: Seven Sexy Stories of Gluttony from MindFuck Fiction. Dorla isn’t much of a lawbreaker, but likes to break the rules in her fiction. You can read more about her work at http://dorlamoorehouse.blogspot.com.

Maggie Morton lives with her partner and their eccentric cat in Northern California. Her story Unexpected Gifts is published by Dreamspinner Press, and her writing appears in the Spank! anthology.

Scarlet Page, an award-winning author, has been writing poetry since she was twelve and short stories, including erotica, since she was eighteen. She currently resides in Missouri with her partner and four ridiculous cats.

Mira Paul is a lifestyle submissive who can’t seem to keep her fingers out of the publishing industry. She began her career as an intern and, later, senior literary agent at the L. Perkins agency. This is her second erotica anthology with Ravenous Romance.

Angel Propps gave up a promising nursing career to become a singing, bass-playing riot grrl in several punk bands throughout the early nineties. When the members of her last band were abducted by aliens masquerading as officers of the law, she became an exotic dancer in order to raise her daughter as a single parent and to pay off the lawyers. Angel is a very out-and-proud leather dyke who has written for both online travel and literary magazines. She splits her time between New York City and Alabama.

Giselle Renarde is a proud Canadian, supporter of the arts, and activist for women’s and LGBT rights. She is a short story contributor to more than thirty anthologies, including Love Bites and Bite Me (BBA/Torquere Press), Like Twin Stars (Circlet Press), Girls on Top and Tasting Her (Cleis Press), Ultimate Lesbian Erotica 2009 and Best Lesbian Love Stories 2009 (Alyson books). For information on Giselle and her work, visit her website at www.wix.com/gisellerenarde/erotica/ or her blog at donutsdesires.blogspot.com. Ms. Renarde lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head.

Elizabeth Thorne is a sexual health educator and writer living outside of New York City who would like to remind everyone that sex on the Sabbath is a mitzvah. You can find a bibliography of her work at WithBatedBeth.com or contact her through her fan page on Facebook.

V.C. is an aspiring erotic fiction writer who is eclectic in all forms and genres of erotica, including lesbian, homosexual, transsexual, BDSM, pansexual, and occasionally romantic fantasy. V.C. has previously been published on Oysters&Chocolate.com and is also a sex toy reviewer on EdenFantasys.com under the name Foxxy Kitty.

Xan West is the pseudonym of a New York City BDSM/sex educator and writer. Xan’s story First Time Since, which was printed in Hurts So Good, won honorable mention for the 2008 National Leather Association’s John Preston Short Fiction Award. Xan’s other work can be found in Best SM Erotica Volume 2 and 3, Got A Minute?, Love at First Sting, Best Women’s Erotica 2008 and 2009, Best Lesbian Erotica 2011, Frenzy, and Pleasure Bound. Xan wants to hear from you, and can be reached at Xan_West@yahoo.com