PUT ME

 IN A SKIRT

AND

HURT ME

The Strictly Lesbian Adventures of
Mistress Sophia

A.L. Bryce

PINK SMILE BOOKS

ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS BOOK ARE FICTITIOUS. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO REAL INDIVIDUALS—EITHER LIVING OR DEAD—IS STRICTLY COINCIDENTAL.

© 2012 A.L. BRYCE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: THIS IS A SEXUALLY EXPLICIT ADULT NOVEL, CONTAINING SEXUAL BONDAGE, DISCIPLINE, AND SADOMASOCHISM. IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 OR OFFENDED BY SUCH MATERIAL, PLEASE TRY ANOTHER TITLE.

1

SOPHIA ENTERED THE ROOM just as Willow scrambled onto her hands and knees.

“Is that how I left you?” she breathed out casually. “Hmm…”

Willow began an elaborate apology, but Sophia cut her off. “The birch this time, Little One. Bring me the birch.”

Willow rose and rushed from the room, returning seconds later with a strong birch switch in her hands. She placed it gently into Sophia’s outstretched palm.

“Bare your back and please, dear, don’t bore me with sounds this time.” Sophia began the punishment by whipping down quite hard on Willow’s back, but her heart just wasn’t in it. Her mind was on the woman she’d met the night before. A woman who had unbelievably unhinged Sophia and made her so dripping wet she’d had to go out to her car and mop herself dry. It had been a long while since Sophia had not been the one in control, and it made her squirm with delight and anger. With this on her mind, she really couldn’t punish Willow properly—and that bothered her too. How dare the thought of that strange woman interfere with the correction her current lover needed and deserved?

She whipped Willow a little harder and her lover tried to stifle her cries.

“Tsk ... Fine, fine,” she sighed. “We’re done. You’re done. Get dressed ... No. Oh, fuck it,” Sophia muttered and murmured and cursed. Willow didn’t know how to respond. Her mistress had never been so feeble before and it made her mad that she wasn’t receiving the proper punishment for being disobedient. She got up in a huff.

“Well, which is it, dress or stay in my corset?” she demanded, and then when Sophia raised a tired eyebrow at her, “Mistress,” she added in a whisper.

“Go get on your knees next to the bed,” Sophia commanded.

As Willow obediently left the room, Sophia dropped the birch switch on the coffee table and sunk into her favorite chair, a dark-blue mohair that made her skin look bone china-white against it. Bone china-white ... who the fuck cares? she thought. Oh, this woman had unhinged her. How had it happened? She thought again about the evening and how a casual conversation had brought her nearly to her knees.

She’d been at Happy Betty’s, one of her favorite bars. They all knew her there. They respected her. Admired her. Gave her a wide birth when she was being super domi and always had a private table ready for her use. Last night, she’d been sitting at the bar. Alone. Thinking about introducing another woman into her relationship with Willow. Working out how she’d begin the introduction. Considering the different women she might approach. Thinking about the women who had already made it clear they would be more than happy to be whipped and dominated by her—with or without Willow in the picture.

She was absently stirring her martini with her finger as she pondered the possibilities, when suddenly a strong hand had pulled her hand out of her drink, taken her finger, and inserted it fully into a perfectly lipsticked mouth. The mouth had sucked hard, then softer—and finally, slid her finger out with a firm push of the tongue.

“That’s kind of a weak martini ... but I really didn’t expect much from something you’d be drinking anyway,” stated the slender gray-haired woman, still holding her hand. “You’re going to buy me something nice now, maybe something tropical. Let’s make it something with pineapple in it, `k?” She spoke in a grandma voice that somehow carried the promise of doom if disobeyed while at the same time promising warm chocolate chip cookies if you were a good girl.

That was when Sophia had felt something running down her leg and knew that the crotch of her silk panties—black, what else could they be?—was soaked through.

“I ... ” she’d stuttered. “You ... ” she’d choked.

The steely-haired woman had just gazed at her, almost lovingly, and stuck her own thin finger into her mouth, suckling as if she had Sophia’s nipple there instead.

“Something fruity for the lady!” Sophia blurted to Chance, and thanked the gods the butch pussycat of a bartender had acted as if her breathless broken voice wasn’t out of the ordinary.

I’ll leave Chance a big tip ... she’d thought stupidly.

“We’ll go to the ladies room now,” the hot matron had commanded, and Sophia had found herself bobbing up like a pin, wanting to comply with whatever she desired of her, hoping with all her heart that it was something really nasty and degrading.

“Mistress?”

The voice came crashing into her thoughts so hard she jumped out of the blue chair and nearly stumbled in her five-inch Louboutin pumps.

“Mistress ... may I use the bathroom?” Willow’s voice lilted meekly down the hallway. She was feeling anything but meek. She was raging mad. Oh, it wasn’t unusual to be left for long periods, kneeling by the bed or in the living room or even outside in the rain, but she could tell Sophia wasn’t really there with her, hadn’t been for a long time. Sophia had lost her focus. She was vulnerable. I’m the fucking vulnerable one here, Willow seethed. I’m the one who needs a strong hand to guide her. I’m the one in need of training and strictness. She’d better freakin’ get on the ball and minister to me! Willow’s lips pursed with impatience. May I use the bathroom? Ha! That should at least get me a good caning, if not one or two snaps of the quirt ...

Sophia entered the room and Willow gasped.

Sophia had the quirt in her hands.

2

SOPHIA FONDLED THE STIFF maroon-and-black braided leather of the handle, reached down and pulled the ends of the two eleven-inch tips together, and then pushed them expertly toward the handle, creating an “O” that she popped a few times. The sound was music to Willow’s ears. Sophia didn’t use a sex toy quirt; she used a real horse quirt. If her girls couldn’t take the real thing, they didn’t deserve to be her subs.

 “Get up.” She spoke tersely. Sophia was out of patience with Willow and with herself. She was out of patience with the woman who had sucked her finger and whom she had followed into the ladies room like ... well, like Willow, for Christ’s sake! She’d acted like Willow. And that, more than anything, decided how she was about to use that quirt.

Willow was standing now, quivering with glee.

The quirt! How long has it been? It must be at least ...

Willow’s thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt CRACK of the quirt on the back of her thigh.

“Jesus, Sophia!” Willow blurted before she could catch herself.

Crack! Crack!

Twice again, the quirt slashed her thigh and buttock. She’s bleeding me this time. I went too far, Willow thought with a mingling of horror and satisfaction.

Crack! Crack! Twice more, before Sophia awoke from her rage and saw what she was doing.

Willow still stood rigidly, awaiting the next blow. Sophia knew she needed to fuck Willow or send her away before she lost control completely. “Go rinse off and bring the ointment back with you,” she commanded.

Willow swayed.

“For Christ’s sake! Can you walk?” Sophia asked and winced at her own compassion. This was not how the game was played with Willow. This was not what either of them deserved. She needed to get back in control. She smacked the quirt handle against her palm.

“I just gave you an order. Go rinse before you bleed on my Oriental and when I say go I mean NOW. Each second you hesitate will cost you in the future.” There. That was more like it. And when Willow scurried from the room, Sophia let out a sigh of relief.

Willow’s quick rinse gave Sophia enough time to pull herself together. She quickly poured herself three fingers of vodka from the bedside stand and knocked them back, glad for the burn in her throat. Walking over to the mirror, she tugged at her leather skirt and smoothed her silk blouse.

OK, OK, think about that fucking steely-haired cunt later. Later. Focus on the task at hand. Get your mind in the game. Finish what you’ve started and get her out so you can ...

Willow entered the room, damp from her shower, with the ointment tube in her outstretched hand as if holding a tarantula or a Buddhist statue.

Sophia took the ointment and spun Willow around. She pulled on a latex glove, squeezed some ointment into her palm and applied it to the thin cuts on her submissive’s ass and thighs. Sophia felt her pussy warming up and smiled slightly. “Turn around. Open your mouth,” she said, and then she kissed her. When Sophia pulled away there was a soft thrill of eye contact. Both women flushed. What’s this? Sophia thought.

But Willow stared down at the floor, back in her role.

Sophia sighed and drew herself up. She removed her glove, tossing it—thwip— into a corner, and placed her hand on one hip.

 “I’m going over to the bed where you’re going to rim me, Little One. And I want a good slow rim job. Then I want to feel your tongue on my pussy, flat tongue only. Lap at me like I’ve taught you ... like a kitten lapping cream from a cup. Lap at me until you feel my lips swelling and then I want you to finger my cunt and my ass, nice and slow. When I come, I want you to quit moving your fingers—but keep them in me. Then, when my ass relaxes, I want you to get up, get your things and leave. Lock the door behind you and wait for my next summons. I know you understand me and I am not in the mood to repeat myself, so God help you if you were not paying attention to my instructions.”

With that, Sophia unzipped her leather skirt and let it slide to the ground. She never wore panties under leather clothing; she loved the feel of raw animal skin against her bush. She stepped out of her skirt and, keeping her heels on, lay face down on the bed, spread her knees, and thrust her ass high into the air. Willow approached silently and began to lap at the puckered pink smile of her mistress. Her own pussy was dripping, but right now, she had a task to accomplish, and she planned on meeting her mistress’s commands to the letter. She must pay strict attention to when and how that ass responded. She had to listen intently for the slightest sigh of approval or disapproval from her mistress. These smallest of clues were all she got and all she needed. And now, that sweet pink ass was slowly opening to her gentle tongue.

Willow wanted to speed up (she was close to coming herself now) but she knew from past experience that her mistress didn’t like that—no, not at all. It was the slow approach, the cautious ascent that Mistress demanded. Willow was in awe of her mistress’s style: never quick, never hurried—instead, preferring a steady Zen-like lap of the tongue, never allowing herself to bend to her emotions, reaching a fever pitch (yet still totally controlled) and coming like a freight train barreling through a small town on an empty night. Willow could do that for her. She could be that slow, steady lap, lap, lap. Never wavering, never a break in tempo. She’d practiced long and hard to do it and Sophia had rewarded her with whippings and bindings and all sorts of other luscious treats.

Now, Willow moved her tongue to the downy softness of her mistress’s lips. This was the hardest part for Willow. She preferred a waxed, or at least a well-trimmed, beaver, but Sophia kept hers full. The hairs tickled Willow’s nose and made her want to sneeze—which, of course, was a punishable offense, and not a nice punishment, but more likely excessive kneeling or even banishment. Willow concentrated hard and kept on with her metronome-like lapping, each move of her tongue in concert with her thought, I love you. I love you. I love you. Sophia’s lips responded readily, plumping and glistening. Willow was surprised. Sophia usually took some time to heat up.

So, the quirt excites you as much as it does me! Willow surmised with glee.

She inserted her fingers into her lady’s pussy and ass in one well-practiced, smooth motion, and felt both grip her tightly. This, too, was a surprise. Sophia was more responsive than usual. Something’s not right, but whatever it is it works for me, works beautifully for me, Willow thought. She completed her task, as ordered. Sophia rose up, slightly crushing Willow’s fingers with her pulsing pussy, and then nonchalantly fell gracefully forward. Willow smiled.

A divine silence followed, interrupted only by the soft shifting of Sophia’s limbs against the sheets.

Willow gathered her things and left, locking the door behind her and dressing outside in the courtyard. When her mistress said, “gather your things and leave,” she meant it. There was no room for error.

3

SOPHIA HEARD THE CLICK of the lock and rolled onto her back. She gazed up at the ceiling. She lifted one then the other of her Louboutins and waved her feet around in small circles. Then she let her legs crash down to the bed and frowned. A sip of vodka and then time to examine last night’s behavior once again, this time without the distraction of Willow.

She poured the drink and took a slug. She swished it around in her mouth like Listerine before swallowing it down. She coughed a little. Drinking straight vodka was more a “do this in front of Willow” thing not a “thank God she’s gone and I can put on a pair of sweats” thing. She kicked off the heels and curled her feet into little fists. She loved wearing her stilettos almost as much as she loved taking them off at the end of a session. She pulled a locked suitcase out of her closet, entered the combination, and opened it up. Inside was a pair of blue sweatpants, a BISBEE, ARIZONA T-shirt (worn-out and holey), and a USC sweatshirt two sizes too big for her and covered in popcorn oil stains. She removed her Versace silk blouse and her La Perla bra and pulled on the sweatpants and T. She let out a sigh and padded into the kitchen, checking the door on the way to make sure it was locked. She turned off her phone and thought about making a bowl of popcorn, but decided any thinking about last night should really be done on an empty stomach. She walked into the living room, grabbing a pillow from the couch. She flopped into her blue chair and wrapped her arms around the pillow.

“We’ll go to the ladies room now,” the elegant woman had commanded. And didn’t I just bob up like a pin? Sophia thought in wonder. Just like a little pin ... like Willow when I asked her to get the birch branch ... Sophia shuddered, but couldn’t tell if it was from pleasure or horror—or maybe a bit of both.

Sophia had followed her—this indescribable being—down the hallway to the ladies room. She’d observed the tailored blue skirt and blazer, Armani, and her shoes ... where had she gotten those shoes? They were some kind of animal skin, but what? They weren’t stilettos, but somehow the low heel, the vintage look of them, was almost Victorian—like something Marie Antoinette might wear. How in the hell did she make them look so hot? Sophia had been mesmerized.

Coming out of her revelry, Sophia grabbed the phone and turned it on. She hit the “4” key, speed-dialing her friend Edna. Edna, the shoe fanatic. “Don’t ask any questions just give me the right answer,” Sophia replied to Edna’s cheerful, “Hi, this is Edna Brandon-Smith—and it’s 11 o’clock at night so this better be important!”

Sophia related everything she could remember about the shoes.

“Sidewalks,” Edna stated flatly.

“Sidewalk?” Sophia asked as flatly.

“No, Hon, not sidewalk like you walk on, C-Y-D-W-O-Q, as in Burbank. Man’s a genius.”

“Than”—Sophia had already cut the call—“nks” and grabbed her Ipad. She googled CYDWOQ and found the website. She clicked on women’s shoes and had to look through half of the “vintage line” before finding the shoes: They were called “Rho.” Staring at them, her pussy felt hot. Her nipples hardened.

Oh, fuck, what IS this? High school? Really? Really? A picture of a pair of shoes is turning me on? Me? Who the fuck was that woman?

The woman in the Armani and Cydwoqs had walked down the hall in front of her. Sophia had watched those hips, watched the calm way the woman walked rigidly down the hall—and how could that be? Who can pull off calmly rigid? She had to have been an ex-nun.

Sophia squeezed the pillow.

“Come on, now,” the woman in the Armani had said, holding open the bathroom door like a doorman at a fancy hotel.

Sophia had walked past her into the bathroom, hesitating before turning, almost waiting to be told she was allowed to turn around. She’d tried to regain her equilibrium.

“What do you want from me?” she’d challenged, even jutting out her chin.

Pathetic, she thought now, clutching her little pillow.

“What makes you think you could possibly have anything I would want, dear?”

Sophia clutched the pillow tighter. Yes, she’d said that ... but she’d had a twinkle in her eye. She’d been joking, surely. And the woman had invited ... no, she’d commanded her to the ladies room.

“What’s your name?”

“Sophia La ... ”

“Only your first name. I have no interest in your last name, Sophia.” The woman had paused and looked her up and down. “Sophia is an awfully pretty name for such a plain girl.”

Sophia had flooded at that. Completely and totally wet her pants. All the adoration Willow and Susan and Bonnie and all the others had bestowed on her barely caused a stir, and yet this woman calling her plain created a river between her legs. She’d wanted to reach her hand down and stroke herself desperately and had to grab her own hand to stop from doing it.

“Sophia, take off your panties and give them to me. Will you do that for me?”

Sophia had reached under her skirt and yanked at her panties, nearly ripping them in the process. Slow-steady-lap-lap-lap Sophia couldn’t move fast enough to obey the request. She’d flung out her hand, panties dangling from her fingertips, and waited for the woman to take them, hoping painfully that their hands might brush against each other.

“I’m Mrs. Pea. Like a sweet pea. Can you remember that?”

“Mrs. Pea.”

Mrs. Pea had opened her purse and held it out, and Sophia, after a moment, understood that she was to drop the panties into the open mouth of the purse.

“I’m going to take your panties home with me now and I’m going to lie down on my fainting couch and I’ll put your panties over my face and smell you while a very dear friend of mine works me, fucking me hard with a very nice dildo I happen to have. Oh, it’s my favorite to be sure. I’ll have this friend of mine fuck me very, very hard with this very nice dildo, all the while inhaling your lovely perfume. Doesn’t that sound divine?”

With that, Mrs. Pea had snapped her purse shut, walked past Sophia, and gone out the door.

Sophia had stood there, perfectly still in the middle of the bathroom, coming violently.

Sophia dropped the pillow to the floor, reached into her sweatpants, and began to press and pinch and roll the folds of her lips and clit. Her fingers slid effortlessly into her sopping pussy. She pushed harder, her fingers for once inadequate to the task, not slender enough, not smooth enough. She wanted them to be stronger. She wanted them to be someone else’s. She pulled her hand out, stumbled up out of the chair and into her room. As always, the shades were drawn. A small white ceramic lamp shed light against the pale pink walls, festooned with several art deco mirrors—the better to watch herself with her subs. She threw open her sex toy drawer, which was organized by size, color, and brand, and grabbed her favorite Lelo vibrator, a black rubber colossus with 21 different settings. Sophia flung herself onto the bed, massaging her cunt with the vibrator, flipping through the settings and varying the intensity, her legs straight out, high in the air, then bicycling. Sophia rubbed, thrust, and jiggled the vibrator against her slick pussy, insane with the urge to come again and again as she relived the incident in the bathroom.

“You’re plain ... so plain ... I yanked my panties down ... I’ll yank them down ... plain girl ... Oh, fuck ... Oh, yeah ... Oh, Jesus, fuck me ... fuck me ... ffffffffuuu ...”

Sophia threw the vibrator to the empty side of the bed and sat up, the hunger in her core still gnawing at her, seeking release. “Aargh!” she cried, then threw her head back and gazed at the ceiling.

4

PRIDE ALMOST STOPPED HER. Almost. But the next evening at 7, she showered, chose a fucking awesome pair of red lace panties that had cost her, oh, about two month’s rent, and threw on a black halter dress she knew did great things for her ass and tits. She spritzed herself with a little Aqua di Gio and applied her make-up carefully. She thought about taking a purse so she could ask some random submissive to drop her panties into it, but knew that she wanted Mrs. Pea to have that role and that she wanted her own panties to be the ones that fell into the open maw of that sleek leather handbag. Only hers.

She got her cab driver to run two red lights heading to Happy Betty’s. Now, she sat on the same bar stool as before and nursed her second martini. Mrs. Pea wasn’t there. Chance hadn’t remembered her, or said she didn’t, but there was a certain look on her face that led Sophia to believe the sly butch knew exactly who she meant when she asked who “that older woman I bought a drink for two nights ago” was or when she’d be back or if she came in often. Anything. Anything about Mrs. Pea would be welcome. And Chance had said nothing.

Like a slave, Sophia began going to Happy Betty’s every night. Was Mrs. Pea some weird contrivance the bar had devised to get uber-loyal customers? Where, oh, where was Mrs. Pea? Sophia had had to replace the batteries in the Lelo twice in the last two weeks. Her pussy was nearly to the point of having calluses.

Then, one night, she didn’t go. She stayed home, unlocked her suitcase and crawled into a pair of plain cotton panties and her big sweatshirt and watched Big Love on Netflix and ate popcorn.

The next morning, she began planning for the next session with Willow, including calling a woman who was unfortunately named Porsche, but who had the best spanking ass Sophia had ever had the pleasure of pinking up, and who she felt would be an excellent foil for Willow. She got out her toys and took an inventory. She was a bit bored with the tools at her command and cruised a few websites looking for something new. She found a new ball gag that had a removable cylinder in the ball where a sub’s tongue could be inserted and, well, screwed down. She had the feeling Willow would faint with pleasure just at the thought of it.

That afternoon she took a cab to her favorite vintage clothing store and purchased a new pair of opera-length black leather gloves with pearl buttons. She loved to wear this kind of glove when spanking, plus gentle beatings with the gloves themselves worked well as a warm-up for the more intense whips and quirts she owned.

Friday evening worked best for everyone, and Sophia felt her power growing as she pulled her black rubber corset out of the closet. A true work of art, this corset was leather and rubber and the maker had constructed it so Sophia could strap herself into the corset very tightly without anyone’s assistance. First, the corset was tied in the traditional way, then clamps sewn into the sides were levered shut, pulling the corset snug. You could lever it once, twice, or—if you were insane—three times. Sophia levered it twice and gazed into the full-length mirror on the inside of her closet door.

“Oh, corset, how I love you,” she purred.

It was an under-bust corset, and Sophia loved to watch her tits bounce gently up and down as she continued to dress, glancing into the various mirrors positioned around her bedroom. She’d found the mirrors at the estate sale of an old woman down the block. She’d passed her on the street a few times and had nodded or said hello. When the woman had died, her daughter had opened up the house, as is, and sold all her mother’s splendor. Sophia had been amazed at the woman’s boudoir. It looked like a pleasure palace, with draping fabric around a four-poster bed and mirrors hung strategically to best benefit whatever activity was transpiring there. Sophia had purchased all the mirrors and hung them as closely as possible to the old woman’s original plan.

Now, she pulled on a pair of black silk tap pants (very roomy and very accessible) and a pair of black silk thigh-highs with seams up the back. Then she opened a box on her dresser with cydwoq written on the side. Not the Rhos but Seek, which, at the time of the order, had seemed so apropos. She slid into the heels. Black tooled leather on one side snuggled up against plain black on the other. Plain. Two thin straps coming across and hooking, holding the foot in place. A wood kitten heel. She was getting moist. At least she had this from Mrs. Pea: a memory that got her hot and a new shoe line to throw money at. Oh, the joys of a bathroom tryst!

She was rouging her nipples when the doorbell rang. Damn it. Someone was early. She quickly rinsed her hands and grabbed the leather gloves off the dresser. Snapping the gloves against her palm, she headed for the door.

She looked through the peephole at Porsche, who was biting her lip and smoothing her hair into place. She opened the door and barked sternly, “You’re early. Get on your hands and knees and get yourself over by that blue chair.”

Porsche immediately fell to her hands and knees, her short coat riding up to reveal edges of a fine ass, something pink and sheer clinging to it.

“I like the look of your ass. Point yourself toward the wall so I can see it clearly. Take off that awful coat, throw it in the corner, and push your ass up into the air. Oh, honey, you’d better be able to get it up higher than that or you won’t be invited back.”

Sophia left Porsche by the chair and went back to the bedroom. She liked to give her subs some time to worry themselves a bit before giving them more attention. She sat on her bed and went over the plans for the evening. Everything was in order. It was going to be very, very rewarding to work the two girls at the same time. She slapped the gloves against her palm again and waited for the doorbell.

Willow rang the bell on the stroke of 7. To the second. Sophia wasn’t sure how Willow managed it, but it pleased her that the girl took her command to “be here on the dot” literally.

Willow was a fitting name for her submissive—tall and nearly rail-thin, with the tight, high ass of a little boy and tits that fit perfectly into a couple of 50’s-style champagne glasses. For a while, she referred to her as “Weeping Willow,” since at the beginning the girl cried nearly the entire session. Eventually, Sophia tired of it and had to command her to stop.

“Willow, come in. Your coat can be put in the corner with Porsche’s. Let me see what you’re wearing.”

Sophia nodded with approval at Willow’s choice of a butter-yellow cupless bra and G-string, white thigh-highs and Steve Madden four-inch heels. Willow had once commented that she felt cheap in G-strings and Sophia had rarely let her wear anything else since. Willow’s nipples were hardening under Sophia’s gaze. Sophia reached out and tweaked the right then the left nipple gently, then more forcefully, bringing a delighted sigh to Willow’s lips. Then she leaned in and kissed her current favorite on the mouth. Willow offered up her tongue fully and Sophia sucked on it gently, then bit down—not exactly hard, but not exactly not hard. She bit just the right amount.

“You’re juicy now, yes?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m juicy for you, Mistress,” Willow said excitedly. She’d been waiting for Sophia’s call and was getting frantic by the time it finally came. Willow depended on Sophia to instruct her and punish her and make her come outrageously. She hadn’t been given permission from Sophia to come on her own and had been forbidden other women. If Sophia wasn’t in the mood for Willow, then Willow had to suffer silently until Sophia was ready. She often wondered if Sophia forgot about her. So when Sophia’s call eventually came, Willow had gone limp with relief. And of course, there were those times—like after the recent whipping with the quirt—when Willow would go home and have to satisfy herself. These were few and far between, and were the only times Willow disobeyed her mistress.

“Willow, this is Porsche.”

Porsche began to rise and Sophia mashed her heel into her, pushing her back into a kneeling position. “Did anyone tell you to move? Did they? How dare you come here and not obey me?” Sophia let her full displeasure be known. Her foot remained on Porsche’s back, the heel grinding just a bit into her flesh. Porsche felt her pussy dripping and prayed it wasn’t on her new mistress’s beautiful Oriental silk rug.

Willow felt her hackles rising. What was this? Sophia was hers. Hers! She didn’t want to share her time with Sophia. Her mistress. Mistress, mistress. Her mistress had warned her twice already that she should never call her Sophia. But Willow was so fond of her that she found herself calling her “Sophia” in her head and “Mistress” to her face. It was hard to keep the two separate, but to her, Sophia was Sophia, a woman she loved with all her heart. The mistress administered the punishments, but Sophia made her come.

“As I was saying ... Willow, this lousy submissive is Porsche. I want you to help me train her to be a good sub, like you. Porsche, Willow is your better. She will help you to follow my rules and teach you how to behave in my presence. Willow, to begin I’d like you to teach this poor trollop how to properly present her ass to me.”

Sophia strolled out of the room, slapping the leather gloves against her thigh.

Willow grabbed Porsche’s arm and pulled the girl up.

“You’re a fucking lousy smelly poor excuse for a sub and you’ll never be as good as me but, as Soph- ... as Mistress has commanded, I will now demonstrate to you how to present your ass.”

Willow dropped to all fours and thrust her ass up high into the air. From this position, she continued, “As you can see, the ass is fully open and accessible to the mistress. Do not clench. Do not sway. Do not bounce. Keep the ass as high as you can without trembling. You’ll need to practice, since at first your legs will start to tremble and ache. A good sub will practice until she can maintain a high ass for ... well, forever, if Mistress commands it. Also, you want to be high enough that your pussy is easy to stroke or swat or pinch or ... ” Willow trailed off as her own pussy glistened with desire.  Porsche reached forward and stroked Willow between the legs. Willow jerked away violently.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she shrieked in a whisper.

“You look so tasty. I want to taste that sweet pussy,” Porsche replied quietly. “She’s not in the room. Let me have a little taste.”

“Are you ... Jesus! Mistress will ... Well, I have no idea what Mistress will do. You do that to her not me!”

“Why can’t we all do it to each other?” Porsche asked just as Sophia came back into the room.

Willow shoved Porsche down to the ground and yanked her waist up. “As I was saying, high up in the air for access by the mistress ... ”

Sophia reached between Porsche’s legs, pushed the crotch of the sheer pink panties aside, and felt her cunt. Her sap was full in her and, at Sophia’s touch, came cascading down onto the leather-gloved hand.

“My, my,” murmured Sophia. Porsche squirmed and Sophia removed her hand and began smacking Porsche’s ass. “Did Willow instruct you properly? Do you move when I touch you?” Sophia calmly brought her hand down again and again across Porsche’s cheeks. She continued the beating until Porsche’s cheeks were bright pink, as pink as the panties she wore. Then she stopped and walked over to Willow.

5

“AND YOU?” SOPHIA REACHED between Willow’s legs and placed three gloved fingers up her twat. The young woman was so wet, the fingers disappeared effortlessly and Willow moaned with her lips shut tightly. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she fought the urge to ride that hand back and forth until she came. Fought hard and barely won.

“Oh, Mistress! Please apply the crop to me. Or the quirt!” Willow remained stock still, her ass raised, knowing that even a slight sway would displease Sophia and delay the whipping she so wanted and deserved.

Sophia sighed. She hated when they begged for beatings. She preferred to deliver her punishments at her own discretion, not at the pleading of the subs.

“Do you deserve a punishment?”

“Porsche tried to lick my pussy!” Willow blurted.

“Really?” Sophia asked casually. She turned to Porsche. “Really?” she asked again.

Porsche leapt up. “Her hot little twat was thrust up nearly in my face! She wasn’t just showing me what you wanted, she was showing me what she wanted!”

“That’s a lie, Mistress!” Willow bounded up, waving her hands. “I would never ... ”

“Quiet! The both of you,” Sophia seethed. She paced the room. “Both of you get on the ground and get those asses up in the air. NOW.”

Both girls scurried to the floor, jutting their sweet asses up, up, up: Willow, steady as a brick, having assumed this position often and for long periods of time. Porsche, with quivering thighs and a vibrating ass, determined to please her new mistress and establish herself as the most obedient of subs.

Sophia walked over and rubbed each girl’s cheeks appreciatively in her gloved hands. She kneaded the tender flesh of their buttocks, then began to pinch and rub roughly.

“You may ... vocalize,” she allowed.

Immediately, both began to moan and sigh with pleasure at the attention given their firm young asses.

Sophia slid a hand between each girl’s legs and found each of their clits. She began stroking back and forth. The moaning heightened and Porsche began grinding herself against Sophia’s hand. Sophia immediately removed her hand and instead focused on Willow, rewarding her for not moving. Porsche understood immediately and became immobile. Sophia’s hand returned to Porsche’s cunt, rubbing and stroking, her gloves glossy with both girls’ juices.

Abruptly, she stopped it all and sat in her blue chair.

“Willow, pleasure Porsche,” she commanded in a quiet, off-hand voice.

Willow hated Porsche now, hated her, and giving her pleasure was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted her gone. She wanted her mistress to herself! But to please Sophia was her top priority. If that meant bringing Porsche to a shattering climax, so be it. She was determined to bring the stupid cunt to her knees and make her come harder than she’d ever come before.

Willow laid Porsche back on the couch and began to stroke her body from head to toe. Porsche steeled herself. There was no way this stick of a woman was going to excite her. She was as determined as Willow. Determined to not come, to not be moved.

Willow nuzzled Porsche’s neck, sipping on her flesh, nibbling gently and occasionally biting tenderly, her tongue meandering along the unwilling girl’s throat to the fullness of her breasts. She brought one nipple into her mouth and sucked gently. To Porsche’s dismay, her nipples tightened and her back arched slightly to thrust the nipple more firmly into Willow’s beautiful mouth. Willow caressed Porsche’s arms and legs, eventually bringing her hands up Porsche’s creamy thighs and against her wet little cleft. Willow drew back, pulled Porsche’s drenched pink panties off, and said, “Turn over, Porsche, turn over.”

Porsche obeyed, renewing her resolve to remain unmoved by Willow’s tongue, her mouth, her wonderful hands that seemed to be everywhere at once. She thought about baseball and her dog that had died when she was a child, anything to dampen the excitement rising in her. Willow tucked a pillow under Porsche’s belly and thighs, lifting the girl’s ass and displaying it—and her new rival’s beautiful bald cunt—to perfection. Willow began to rim Porsche, her tongue swirling around and around Porsche’s ass cheeks like a tiny little roulette wheel. Her tongue swirled until the tip of it landed on Porsche’s hot little scrunch of an asshole, jutting inside, making her gasp with pleasure—a gasp Porsche quickly stifled.

Next, Willow went to work on her cunt—not in the fashion preferred by her mistress, but by making her tongue a pointed little sword that penetrated Porsche over and over again. Slick little wet little tongue moving in and out of her ass and in and out of her pussy. Porsche ground her teeth. No, no, no ... I ... can’t ... ooooh, sweet Jesus on the cross! ... her tongue ... in me ... Oh, deeper! Shove it in deeper, you little angel! Oh, fuck me with that little sturdy tongue of yours, you sweet little ... Oooooh, fuck me. Yes. Yes.

Willow felt Porsche’s response and redoubled her efforts. Suddenly, she felt Sophia place a small bottle of lube in her hand. She was able to open it and lube up her hands while tongue-fucking the bejesus out of Porsche. Her lubed hands came up now and one moved to her ass and cunt, the other wrapped around and found a hard little nipple to squeeze and a big breast to massage. The hand between Porsche’s legs began a luscious game of fingers moving in and out of ass and pussy, ass and pussy. She felt Porsche’s lips and clit swelling ridiculously big, bigger than Sophia’s ever had, and she was pleased with her own prowess. She pulled her hand away, and Porsche let out a mew of dismay.

After a maddening pause, Willow returned to her fingerfuck of ass and cunt, and Porsche cried out and began working her hips hard against those fingers. To hell with resolve! Porsche surrendered completely. Moaning and pressing her face into the couch, thrusting her hips back and forth to the rhythm of Willow’s fingers entering, exiting, entering, exiting.

“Deeper! Fuck me HARD. Oh, fuck me DEEPER! YES! That’s ... YES, Oh, fuck, YEEEEESSSSSS!”

Willow was excited now too, and fucked Porsche’s soaking pussy as hard as she could, pushing with her whole body against the slick bald cunt and glossy asshole, increasing her rhythm to a fever pitch.

“You FUCKINGWONDERFULBITCHWILLOW ... I’m coming. Oh, yes, yes, I’m coming now ...” From a yell to barely a whisper as Porsche quivered and quaked, the climax shattering her to pieces and delivering her to a quiet empty space she’d never been before. For a few seconds, she even forgot to breathe.

Willow rose victorious with a smirk on her face. Fucking Porsche. Do not try to take my place, you sub of a sub. But she was dripping too and her nipples were hard little beads on her tits, wanting to be sucked and sucked and sucked.

Sophia motioned Willow to sit and turned to Porsche.

“Pull yourself together, you have work to do.”

6

SOPHIA GAZED AT PORSCHE blandly. Slowly, she tugged the fingers of a still wet glove off one hand and laid it next to her chair. Then she did the same with the second glove, resting it on top of the other and smoothing it out. She sat back and drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair. She pursed her lips and let out a long sigh. The drumming abruptly stopped. “Eat out Willow until she comes.”

Porsche rose unsteadily, but ready for the challenge. She was still horny as hell and wanted to topple Willow the same way she’d been defeated. Plus, she knew she was skilled with her tongue.

Porsche grabbed the G-string at Willow’s waist and roughly pulled it down. Porsche pushed Willow’s thighs apart and dove directly for her pussy, which was already glistening and swollen with excitement. Porsche’s tongue lapped the edges of Willow’s lips, darted in and out of her rosy opening, then returned to the edges to tease. Willow’s legs tensed. She lifted her ass off the couch, grabbed Porsche’s head, and thrust it deep between her legs. Porsche responded by lapping up all the juices she could as they poured out of Willow. Her tongue pushed softly then more forcefully against Willow’s cunthole. Her hands reached in and parted Willow’s lips, exposing the clit while her practiced tongue flicked out, lifted the hood, and lapped directly on it. Many women can’t handle this direct stimulation, but Willow went wild. Her legs jerked up, her knees nearly level with her chin, as she spread them wide to give Porsche more access.

Porsche’s tongue moved like a battering ram, like a soft blanket, like a little whip against Willow’s exposed clit. Suddenly, Willow’s legs wrapped around Porsche’s head, nearly suffocating Porsche in her pussy as the spasms rocked her from head to toe.

“FUCK ME!” Willow breathed out and again, “FUCKING FUCK MEEEEEE.” She came again and again, each crescendo thought to be the last, followed by another more lasting and vibrant than the previous one. Eventually, the spasms tapered off and Willow finally released Porsche’s head from between her thighs. Porsche’s face was streaked with Willow’s juice. It almost looked as if she’d been crying.

The girls grinned at each other.

Both girls turned to Sophia, who sat staring from her blue chair. They waited expectantly for the next command. Time passed. Sophia jerked. She’d been thinking about Mrs. Pea again and had barely been aware of her subs in their throes of passion.

7

 “YES ... WELL ...” SOPHIA BEGAN, but she was at a total loss. “You ... you bore me now. Both of you. Leave. I’ll summon you when I require your presence.”

The girls exchanged a look of bafflement, but both grabbed their things and left without comment.

What the hell is wrong with me? It was a small incident! Smutty and sexy and, really when you think about it, not that big of a deal! Why am I so fixated on it? And why am I so inconsolable at the thought of it not happening again? Good lord. I really have to get a grip.

She went into the bedroom and got out of her things and lay naked on the bed, her hands—left below the right—resting on the center of her chest. Her black hair, worn in a stern longish pageboy fell forward into her eyes. She sighed, strummed her fingers up and down, and sighed again. This obsession was new. She wasn’t quite sure how to rid herself of it.

A good fucking might do the trick, or at least take my mind off old Auntie Pea.

She reached for the phone and hit 6, the speed dial for ...

“Tommy? Hey, there! I know, I know, it’s late, yes. Yes. Too long. You what? Oh, my God! Well, good for you, you deserve it. What? Well, as a matter of fact, that’s why I’m calling ... You can? Yay! I’ll see you then.”

She replaced the receiver, bounced up and off the bed, and strolled into her lushly out-fitted walk-in closet. She chose a red dress covered in sequins. She thought she looked like a red disco ball in it ... or at least that’s what she’d told Edna, but she knew it was one of those dresses that, well, makes people want to tear it off you and fuck you senseless. And that’s exactly what she wanted right now, to be fucked ... and to be fucked senseless.

Maybe Tommy will fuck Mrs. Pea right out of me.

She rummaged around for her red Prada that she always wore with the dress and looked down at her toes. It was Tuesday and pedicures were on Thursdays but that little gal she went to—Jackie? Joanie? Jilly? Jumong? Who could remember?—but anyway she did a fantastic job, and her toes still looked sexy. She probably didn’t even need to go every week except that she loved being pampered, so why not?

Thank God I didn’t go with that weird purple Jackiejoaniejillyjumong recommended! This shade matches the red dress perfectly! Underwear? No underwear? Hm ...

She decided to go with a black latex set. It was one of her favorites; she was amazed by how thin the latex was. The bra had tight little circles cut out for her nipples ... not the areolas ... just the nips. She fucking loved that! And the panties had a discreet little slit for her clit and another for her pink smile. She put them on and looked in the mirror.

“Fucking awesome! I am fucking awesome!” she murmured.

She’d often been told she could be a Victoria’s Secret Model. She was 5’10”, most of that leg, with a flat stomach she didn’t have to work for, nice 38C titties and an ass just this side of JLo’s. Her nipples were dark pink, nearly brown. She’d laid a half dollar on her breast once and it had exactly covered her areola. She’d wanted to Facebook that to all her friends—she was so proud of the fact—but of course she hadn’t. She was well known in certain circles, but also very private. She had to be in order to pursue her love of the scene.

She’d been introduced to BDSM as a teenager by the woman next door. Her mother had said, “Sophia, you know, Mrs. Jarmon is a real Susie Homemaker. You could learn a lot from her about keeping house and baking—Lord knows I don’t excel in those areas—thank God for Maria!” Oh, she’d learned a lot from her neighbor, that was true, but it wasn’t so much baking as when to use a paddle and when to use a whip, when to wear leather and when to wear rubber, and how to become comfortable in a ball gag for extended periods of time. Sophia quickly decided that she wanted to be a domme, but Mrs. Jarmon had insisted she learn all there was to know about being a sub first so she would understand her own future subs fully and be able to get the most enjoyment out of each and every session.

The first whipping she’d received from Mrs. Jarmon, she’d come so hard she’d soaked her shorts as well as her panties and had had to tie her sweatshirt around her waist to walk over to her own house. Her mother had been hosting her bridge group there and Sophia had to stop in the living room and exchange pleasantries with the nosy Mrs. Aman, the plump Mrs. DiFilipi, and the sharp Mrs. Gatens (who seemed like she was on to something), all the while feeling both the heat of the whipping she’d received and the wetness between her legs. When she felt a droplet coursing down her thigh, she made a quick retreat to her room and was scolded later by her mother for being rude. She couldn’t remember how she’d hidden the marks from all the whippings she’d received. But then again, her mother was much more attentive to bridge and a highball than to Sophia and her comings and goings.

Sophia had surprised herself by getting so excited when being punished and had asked Mrs. Jarmon if maybe she was a submissive after all. But Mrs. Jarmon had just smiled and replied, “Oh, silly! Everyone enjoys a good beating now and then!” and had handed her a chocolate chip cookie.

Sophia slipped the red dress on over the rubber ensemble and wrestled into the red Pradas, not the most comfortable shoes in the world, but Birkenstocks just weren’t in her repertoire. She ran a little CherryCherry lipstick over her lips, quickly lined her eyes, grabbed her clutch, and headed for the door.

She met Tommy at a bar near Sixth Street. Tommy had been one of Sophia’s co-workers when they both worked for that behemoth software company near Seattle. Both had gotten in at the right time, made a nice fat chunk of change, and gotten out in order to find something both felt was a bit more interesting than writing code. Tommy had found paragliding. She now traveled the world leaping off the sides of cliffs and flying off into space screaming, “AAaaaiiieeeeeee!” each and every time. She was also a stunningly big beautiful bald black woman with a penchant for strap-ons, very large strap-ons that she wielded with enthusiasm. A former collegiate sprinter, she had the stereotypical sprinter’s high ass which Sophia, every once in a blue moon, also loved to pleasure. But usually they got together so Tommy could ram and ram and ram at Sophia and Sophia could be rammed and rammed and rammed. They were a great fuckbuddy team.

She saw Tommy at the far end of the bar and met her gaze. Tommy had on black jeans, a black T-shirt with a giant skeleton hand-inked on the front, a ring on one of its bony fingers, and a pair of black short boots. She gave her a smile and a little tilt of the head. “Hellooooo, Gorgeous!” Tommy murmured into her ear as they embraced. “You want a festive alcoholic beverage or you want to get right down to fuckin’?”

“Fuck me.”

They left the bar, hopped into Tommy’s silver Audi, and drove the four blocks to her place. She lived in an old 1930’s building that still had that whiff of cocktails and mink coats. Once inside, Sophia noticed the new dark blue leather Jeffrey Bernett sofa and ivory leather Womb Chair. The walls were bare save for two prints: a thirty-dollar Nayoun Kim print Tommy found on Society6.com and a Picasso. A real Picasso.

“You’ve redone the place ... I see the art hasn’t changed.”

“Back off the art, sister.”

They moved directly to the bedroom where Tommy had a black leather and stainless steel sling set up at just the right height. She turned to Sophia and peeled off her dress with one hand, pulling her head back with the other and covering her mouth with her own. The first touch of tongues was electric, sending a shiver through their bodies and making them push deeper. Their tongues dueled inside Sophia’s mouth. Tommy pulled away and took her jeans off. She folded them and put them over a chair, then her shirt. Her lace bra and panties she took off and deposited in the rattan hamper in the corner of the room. Yes, she was still the tidy bitch she always was when they got together. Sophia loved this about Tommy. Engulfed in passion, she still had to put her blazer on a hanger.

Tommy turned to Sophia and lifted her up, finding her nipple with her luscious mouth. She suckled softly, letting the nip pop in and out and recapturing it over and over again. She licked and was torn between getting Sophia out of the bra to have more access to her entire breast and being driven crazy by that little pink nip sticking out of that sea of black rubber. She decided she liked being driven crazy. Her hands wandered south and caressed Sophia’s fabulous latex-covered ass. She found the tiny asshole opening and rubbed her knuckle back and forth over it. Sophia moaned. Tommy toppled her into the sling.

Legs parted crookedly, Sophia watched as Tommy went to a drawer, opened it and removed a large blue cock and a leather and spandex harness. She stepped into it, fastening the harness tightly around her ample thighs and waist, as she strode back over to Sophia. The cock looked like one of those mini bats they hand out at baseball games. After slathering on some lube, she laid it between Sophia’s legs without ceremony. The slit in the rubber panties parted to reveal that beautiful raw beef look of Sophia’s cunt. Tommy rubbed the slick head of the dick back and forth through the folds of her lips.

“Oh, yeah. That’s the spot. Mmmm. That. Is. The. Spot.”

Tommy began to push and rock and her cock began sliding into Sophia inch-by-inch.

“Tommy, just slam me, honey, slam into me now. I can’t wait.”

Tommy eased her cock out, then shoved it home.

“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!” Sophia cried out. “Jesusgod, you are good!”

Tommy pushed again and Sophia cried out again. They hit a rhythm, Tommy untiring and Sophia opening to the giant cock assaulting her. She felt the wave begin near the top of her head and crash all the way down her body, sending tremors cascading over her, jerking her like a marionette as she came. Tommy began shaking slightly as she pushed, then more intensely as she, too, felt herself coming. “Coming. NOW. OH, SHIT! COMING NOW, GIRL! COMING NOW! Aaaaaiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

Tommy sucked in her breath, jerked her hips a few times more, then added her trademark move: a sort of careening jostle-twist that never failed to make her come again.

“Aaaaaiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

And again…

“Aaaaaiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

And again…

“Aaaaaiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee-ee-ee!”

Sophia tumbled out of the sling, wiped between her legs with a plush gray towel from the bathroom, lifted the little red sequined number over her head, and let it fall down around her.

“How much did you pay for that sling? Whatever it was, it was too much, unless you learn to use it more properly.”

“Money is no object,” Tommy replied.

8

WILLOW WAS RUNNING LATE.

Fuck it. Fuck them! she thought as she scurried along the sidewalk as fast as she could in her four-inch Jeffrey Campbells. She was already late for work, but she still turned and yanked the door of the Starbuck’s open and strode in. She got in line. “Fuuuucck. A line,” she said under her breath. She rummaged in her purse for a twenty as she finally approached the front of the line and said automatically, “Double macchiato with whip. Cheese Danish,” found the twenty, pulled it out and looked up right into the eyes of Porsche.

“May I ... ” Porsche’s eyes widened. “Oh, shiiit.”

“Double macchiato with whip and a cheese Danish,” Willow said again and smirked. But she was glad to see Porsche—or maybe just glad to see Porsche behind the counter of a Starbuck’s slinging coffee and pastries. She wasn’t sure.

Porsche called out the coffee order, rang it up, and took Willow’s twenty. Silently, she counted out the change. She went to the case and returned with a small paper bag containing—not one, but two—cheese Danish. Willow took the bag and went over to wait for the coffee.

“I’m taking a ten minute break,” Porsche told her manager and ran from behind the counter to catch Willow who was heading for the door.

“Hey!”

“Hey.”

“So, my secret’s out—I have a shitty job,” Porsche said lamely.

“My apartment’s around the corner from here,” Willow said. “I have to go to work ... but on my way home why don’t I stop by and fetch you and we can go have a glass of wine and discuss ... oh, how good I am at making you come or the pros and cons of being a sub ... or something.”

Porsche smiled and nodded. She grabbed Willow’s hand and wrote her number on it with her Starbuck’s pen. “I might get fired today ... you never know with me. So, call and I’ll meet you out front.”

Willow was super late now and she bit her lip as she tried trotting in her ridiculously high shoes.

I really should get sensible shoes like the other attorneys ... Screw that. Who wants to show up in court in Easystride?

“You’re late,” her assistant, Pearl, began, “but you are also blessed with great luck. Your court appearance got postponed. And why are we late? Oh, Starbuck’s, that’s why we are late. I see. No, it’s understandable. We only have a Breville right here at the office. We only have half-and-half and full and 2% and 1% and almond milk in the fridge. And real whipped cream in one of those cool aluminum pressurized canisters ... remember Christmas?”

Willow rushed past Pearl and into her office. She set down her coffee and whipped out her phone. She transferred the number from her hand into it.

“Pearl, do we have a towelette?”

“Yes, we have towelettes.” Pearl appeared, popping the lid on the Wet Ones.

Willow looked up, saw the container, and snorted out a laugh.

Pearl looked confused.

“Wet Ones. It just ... reminded me of something,” Willow explained.

The day lasted longer than she’d hoped, and it wasn’t until 6:30 that she was able to call Porsche to let her know she was on her way.

“I thought you might have changed your mind.”

“No, no,” Willow sighed. “It’s just my job ... it’s ... long hours are involved.”

They greeted each other awkwardly with a half hug in front of Starbuck’s, then headed down the sidewalk to Willow’s place.

When they arrived at the downtown apartment, Porsche said, “Oh, is this your parent’s place?” She never imagined someone as young as Willow could afford a two-bedroom, two-bath in the middle of the city.

Willow was equally embarrassed to be able to afford such a pretentious place, but lying wasn’t her forte and she replied honestly, “It’s mine.” And then, seeing Porsche’s face, she did lie. “I’m a trust fund baby ... ”

Porsche looked relieved.

Willow sat down and took off her Joseph Campbells and rubbed the arches of her feet. Porsche walked over and fell to the floor in front of Willow. “Here, let me do that for you.” She began rubbing Willow’s feet with her strong hands. Then she bent down and began kissing and licking the tops of her feet, her arch, her toes. Licking and sucking and throwing in the occasional gentle bite. Willow fell back in her chair and sighed. Porsche moved from her feet to her legs and up over the knees to those creamy welcoming thighs. She spread Willow’s legs gently open and pushed up her skirt. She pulled the lace underwear she found there into her mouth and sucked it, enjoying the smell. She wrestled the panties to one side and pushed her face into the neatly trimmed bush of Willow, inhaling strongly.

“Wait!” Willow exclaimed, pulling Porsche’s head back. “Wait ... I ... there’s something I have to tell you before you continue, it’s important.”

Porsche steeled herself for rejection, for a confession from Willow of being diseased or deformed or only into men, although none of those made sense since Porsche had already supped on Willow at Sophia’s and everything had been in order.

“I’m ... I’m ... I’m not a trust fund baby!” Willow wailed. “I’m a fucking partner in a law firm and I also own a place in London!” Then she fell back exhausted and ashamed.

“A lawyer? You?” Porsche laughed. “A house in London, huh? Well, take me there!”

“It’s just a flat! An apartment ... It’s ... it’s fucking awesome and it’s in the middle of fucking Knightsbridge!”

“Get your pussy back here!” Porsche demanded and tugged at Willow’s hips. She stuck her face back into Willow’s pussy and said, “Knbrlonyofngct.”

Willow pulled her head out once more. “What?”

I said, “Knightsbridge London, you fucking cunt!” and they smiled at each other and Porsche went back to work on Willow’s pussy, licking and sucking on the lips, and at the tops of her thighs, avoiding the clit, letting the tension mount. She took a lip into her mouth and sucked very gently, then just held it, tasting Willow and enjoying the feel of the lip’s slight swelling in her mouth. Then she gently released it and took hold of the other side, repeating the gesture. Going slow, slow, slow this time, savoring her, not like last time where she wanted to conquer the girl, but leisurely eating and sucking and munching on this fabulous pussy in front of her, feeling her own pussy drip from the taste and smell of Willow in her mouth and nostrils. She felt Willow rise slightly off the chair and knew she wanted more and wanted it now. She teased the sides of the clit, moving the hood back and forth with a practiced tongue, circling it, moving in closer and closer then out again, wider circles until finally she placed the tip of her tongue directly on it.

Willow rose higher in her chair, her ass up off it now, grinding herself into Porsche’s face, willing the girl to go faster. Porsche complied, lapping speedily and, inserting two fingers into Willow’s cunthole, she began to wiggle the fingers back and forth like seaweed fronds in the ocean. The feeling was dynamite to Willow and she began to quake. Porsche pulled her fingers halfway out, then jammed them back in and waved them again. Willow spasmed over and over, her hips bucking and her hands pushing Porsche into her, wanting that tongue to keep going, keep licking, keep her coming and coming and coming. Porsche was happy to comply…her pussy was wet and in her mind she was already packing for London.

9

THE PHONE HAD RUNG and Sophia had let it go to voicemail. But then it had rung again. Voicemail again, Sophia had decided. But when the third call came on the heels of the others, Sophia answered it, annoyed. “Hello?”

“Oooooh, chilly!”

“Edna. You know I don’t answer the phone. Why didn’t you leave a voicemail?”

“Because I know you don’t answer your phone, which is very very annoying for all your friends, sweetie. So, I thought I’d annoy you back!”

“Hmmmm.” Sophia couldn’t argue with that logic. “What may I do for you, Madam Edna?”

“Lunch.”

“Oh, that sounds great actually! I’d love to see you!”

“With some friends of mine. Well, not really friends ... just this group of gals from New Jersey.”

“Oh, Edna, no. You know I hate that shit!”

“I need the shoe money, honey.”

Sophia sighed loudly, then sighed again so Edna would realize the full extent of her sacrifice.

“You’ll go, won’t you?”

“Oh, crap. OK. Who do I have to be this time?”

“My spiritual handler.”

Sophia laughed. “What time shall I be there, Madame Unjeu?”

Sophia wore a dark blue Calvin Klein suit, a Jean Paul Gaultier blouse, and some Dolce and Gabbana pumps. She grabbed her keys, locked up, and headed for Edna’s in a cab.

Edna greeted her at the door in a boxy black Moyuru dress and some fabulous studded flats. Edna was always finding (and buying) the latest and most outrageously cool shoes.

“Darling!”

“Darling yourself!” Sophia sang.

“You want a drinkeypoo before we head over?”

“Sure. White wine?”

“Viognier OK?”

“Perfect.”

The two women had known each other for nearly five years, having met in the shoe section of Barney’s during a sale.

Edna was 5’2” with kinky dark hair with a fake gray streak to make herself look mysterious. She also had learned to put an enormous amount of eyeliner around her eyes and always wore big dangly earrings. People often mistook her for some Middle Eastern belly dancer, but she was just a simple gal from Florida who had left the alligators behind and fled to the big city. She worked as a Management Consultant and had built a fabulous reputation in NYC, LA, Boston, Chicago, Dallas, Atlanta ... but in her free time she got a kick out of giving advice from “the other side.” Being an over-achiever, she’d built a fabulous reputation as “The Psychic Madame Unjeu” in Schenectady, Toledo, Memphis, Kansas City, and Orlando.

Edna served up the wine and the women sipped in silence.

“So, what’s up? And where did you hear about Cydwoqs?” Edna asked.

“Oh.” Sophia began shaking her head back and forth. “I just met a woman, briefly, who had on a pair and they looked so ... stunning. I looked them up online after you told me the brand.”

“Not a sub?”

“No, a woman who came into Happy Betty’s. I bought her a drink, that’s all.”

“Will you see her again?”

“No, I don’t think I will. It was just a casual encounter. Sort of. Well, not really all that casual. I’m ... it was ... I was quite affected actually. I mean, I’m over it now, but at the time—she kind of worked a voodoo on me.”

“Sweetie, you know I want to hear all about it but we’ll have to talk later. We have to go do this thing with the gals from Jersey.” Edna took Sophia’s wine glass, along with her own, to the kitchen.

They planned how the luncheon with the Jersey girls should unfold. “Madame Unjeu” would go into a trance. Sophia would sit quietly for most of the séance but would jump in near the end to express concern that Madame Unjeu was overdoing it and needed to end the session to preserve her health. This would help to facilitate a follow-up call or two for more advice once the Jersey girls had returned home.

Sophia was comfortable in her role. Sometimes she actually rather enjoyed the game. And she got a huge kick out of Edna, who really should have been a star of the stage with her ability to embody her characters at the drop of a hat. She was both disappointed and relieved that they hadn’t had time to discuss the Mrs. Pea incident. She wasn’t sure how much she should, or could, share with Edna. Now she had a reprieve to consider what to say or if she wanted just to let the matter drop.

The luncheon went swimmingly!

Edna and Sophia met the Jersey girls at Benoit’s in Midtown. Edna had long ago secured “The Officine” (a ten-person private dining salon) for her little soirees. It didn’t matter anymore if there were two of them or a full room of ten, Benoit’s loved Edna. Her guests never left without dropping more than a few hundred each, what with cocktails and food. Madame Unjeu encouraged them to return to the restaurant on their own too. After all, the “spirits” enjoyed being there and who was to say? Perhaps her clients might catch a glimpse of their dearly departeds on their own.

“The Officine,” a complete reconstruction of an 1830s French herbalist’s shop from Bordeaux, was a lovely backdrop to the discerning woman’s mystical experience. Its rich walnut paneling, original porcelain herb nameplates, and the stunning mural-sized photographs of Paris at each end of the room offered an ooh-la-la feeling to the goings on at the séance.

Edna was an expert at rolling her eyes back into her head, making her body vibrate just enough to cause the customers to be uncomfortable and thrilled, and then spirit would take over her body.

“They are here,” Madame Unjeu extolled.

“Is it Gladys?” a woman with large earrings interrupted. “Is it Uncle Jimmy? God forbid, it’s not my mother, is it?”

“Is it my mother?” another woman asked. She had a habit of making little “pop” sounds with her gum by sucking it inward. Her name was Lorraine.

“It’s my Sidney! I can tell, it’s my darling Sidney,” said a third woman, tears welling on the darkened brims of her heavily mascara’d eyes.

“There are two…no, three spirits with us,” Madame Unjeu stated. She planned on making everyone happy. “Two older women and a man present.”

“My mother!”

“Mother?”

“He’s dark-haired, isn’t he? Sidney? Oh, Sid, I’m here!”

“Yes, the man is dark. He’s shaking his head.”

“Oh, my God!” Sidney’s wife clutched her bosom and let the tears roll.

“He has a message for you…but wait, the older women, one of them is interrupting.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, that’s gotta be my mother. Jesus, Mom, let the man speak!” Lorraine, the gum popper, rolled her eyes and slapped her hand to the table.

“The woman is backing away. She’s leaving.”

“Mom, don’t go! I didn’t mean to disrespect you. You know I love you, mother.” Lorraine looked stricken.

“She’s back. She’s smiling.”

Sophia was amazed. All the Jersey gals looked thrilled and so far Edna hadn’t told them a thing.

“The man…it is Sidney….yes. He’s holding his hands to his heart.”

“He died of a heart attack!” Sidney’s widow looked like she was about to have one herself.

Edna had planned to say that Sidney was letting her know he loved her…but heart attack was good too. She could use that.

“He says something about it’s not your fault.”

“Well, of course not! He was with his mistress when he had the heart attack. Slut! That’s what she was. Whore!” Her face scrunched up then relaxed. “But I forgive him. I forgive you, Sidney, my love!” She rummaged in her purse for a Kleenex.

“He says he loves you too and that the other woman…whatever she might have been to him when he was alive, she’s nothing to him now. Less than nothing.”

“Oh, baby!” Sidney’s widow waved at the air. “It’s you and me, baby. You and me.”

“He says, ‘forever,’” Madame Unjeu supplied. “The old woman, she wishes to speak now.”

Sophia was amazed at Edna’s dexterity. She’d get the women to feed her all the information she needed to give appropriate advice from their dead loved ones. It was as if they were sitting having lunch in this world, and Madame Unjeu was sitting in some heavenly café with the dead Jersey relatives having cheese steak and mineral water.

Sophia almost wished she could ask Madame Unjeu what to do about Mrs. Pea. But wait, the Mrs. Pea incident was over. She was over it. She’d quit pondering it after seeing Tommy, hadn’t she? But wasn’t she still cruising the Cydwoq website and lingering just a bit on the Rho page? Hadn’t she been going back to Happy Betty’s and always wearing her best panties? Sophia knew it wasn’t because she’d wanted a drink or missed the place; it was because she still held that little flame of hope that Mrs. Pea might make an appearance, might ask her to accompany her to the ladies room, might request she drop her panties into that outstretched purse. She could lie to herself with skill, but the reality was she still dreamed of another meeting with the mysterious Mrs. Pea.

Edna gently kicked her under the table. Sophia had missed her cue.

“Oh! Madame Unjeu, you are pale! Ladies, I must insist we end the session immediately! Madame tends to want to give her clients everything and she’s pushed herself too far already. I won’t risk another hospital visit! Madame Unjeu, please return to consciousness!”

The Jersey women looked startled and concerned and jumped in with their pleas that Madame Unjeu return and that Madame had done a great job and they were thankful and blah, blah, blah.

Edna rolled her eyes, slumped, recovered, and sat up as if awakening from a dream.

“Is it ... am I ... is it over already?” she asked breathlessly.

Later that evening, Sophia walked into her condo, went directly to the bedroom, and pulled out a couple of vibrators and some self-warming lube. She walked slowly to the bed kicking off her shoes as she went. She lay down and lifted her skirt up slowly. She fingered the tops of her panties then pulled them down to her knees and left them there. She lubed up both vibrators and, wielding them like an expert swordsman, she began massaging her asshole and cunt. She moaned gently as the gel heated up and toasted her puckered little asshole and her pussy, which began to open wide to the pulsing of the vibrator. She squirmed and worked her hands faster. She turned the setting up on the front vibrator, keeping the ass vibrator low and steady but thrusting it more jerkily as she began to lose control. “Oooooohhhhhhmmmmmmmmooooohhhhhhh,” she oh’d. Her juices ran down over the vibrator and onto her hand. She mewled like a kitten. “Oh, Oh, oooooohhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHMMMMMMM ... AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!” She came in a flood—and all the while in her mind she’d been dropping and dropping and dropping her panties into Mrs. Pea’s purse.

“Yeah ... I’m over it.”

She cursed at the ceiling.

10

WILLOW SAT IN COURT, idly opening and closing her knees giving the prosecuting attorney a coy peek at her little frilly panties every few seconds. Not the most impressive way to win a case but, as with most attorneys, Willow used every weapon at her disposal. It was working. The prosecuting attorney was getting flustered and losing his focus. When the judge ruled in her favor, she let out a sigh of relief.

“Well, Ally McBeal! Looks like you’ve won again. Just like on TV!” The bald-headed prosecutor tried to be funny.

She wanted to just ignore him, but she also wanted him to continue to pant after her and knew that a little flirtatious line now would serve her well in the future.

“Oh, you!” she cooed. “Can’t wait to see you in court again ... hope it’s soon.” And she pranced out, swinging her hips as fully as she could.

When she got home, there was a message taped to her door:

Come to Kurosawa’s at 6 :)

The note was scrawled in Porsche’s high school girl penmanship.

It was already 6. Willow growled in annoyance. Porsche was a romantic and most of the time that worked just dandy. Willow loved getting flowers, massages, candy, perfume, and the other little delectables Porsche lavished on her, but she didn’t like so much structure ... like these biddings to this place or that. And, Willow wondered, how was Porsche paying for all the treats she was bestowing on her? For Christ’s sake, the woman was a barista!

She sighed and started peeling off her corporate costume. She yanked open her closet door and rummaged around for something sexy and casual. She pulled out a white halter dress ... the top covered in black chiffon, the bottom a white eyelet full skirt. It looked very Marilyn Monroe. She added a nice Stuart Weitzman heel, grabbed her evening bag, and rushed to the bathroom to slap on some fresh makeup before she rushed out to hail a cab.

Porsche sat at Kurosawa’s with a bottle of Dry Wave in front of her, on her third little thimbleful of the delicious chilled sake. She fiddled with the menu a bit, and when the waitress came over for the fourth time, she went ahead and ordered some edamame and seaweed salad. She was used to Willow being late. She even knew she should plan these little surprises for 8 o’clock instead of 6, but she just couldn’t help herself. She wanted things to start early in the evening so they both had plenty of energy for hot sex. Already, Willow had been too exhausted to play on more than one occasion. True, she did have court the next day, but Porsche still needed to get fucked and Willow had smooched with her for awhile and then rolled her over and pulled her close but nothing more.

And where were the gifts? Hadn’t Porsche made it abundantly clear with all her gift giving that she expected some treats too? She’d gotten a new Chanel wallet from Willow but they’d been out shopping together and Porsche had nearly had to bop her over the head with hints to get her to offer to pay for it. She’d also hinted broadly about London, but to no avail. Well, tonight she planned to get Willow lubed up with some fabulous chilled sake and some tasty morsels of sushi, then get back to Willow’s place and unveil a new set of panties and bra she was sure would get Willow hot and horny instantly.

“And here she is now!” said Porsche under her breath as Willow came rushing into the restaurant.

“Baby! Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. The case ran late! You know it’s hard for me to be anywhere by 6!” Willow spewed out all in a rush. She leaned over and gave Porsche a peck on the cheek. “Oh, is this Dry Wave? Yum!” She poured a thimble, replenished Porsche’s, and finally planted her fanny on her chair.

Porsche had removed her shoe earlier and immediately slid a foot up between Willow’s legs and started exploring with her toes. “Oh, I feel a nice little something ... ”

“Porsche!”

“Willow!”

Willow was uncomfortable with these public gropings, but to her chagrin she began to dampen as Porsche slid her big toe in and out of her cunt. A few more thrusts and Willow was sopping wet.

The waitress came over and Porsche stopped moving her foot long enough to order some sushi and tempura, then she began to thrust again. Willow sputtered out a spider roll order, then waved the waitress away, unable to speak anymore, afraid she’d start moaning. She wrapped her hand around her tiny sake glass and gripped it tight. She felt her pussy grab at Porsche’s toe, felt that slippery toe working her lips and slithering up to her clit and then back down and in and out of her cunt. She felt the molten lava sensation of her body releasing more juices, her pussy tightening in anticipation, then releasing to open further to that big fucking toe!

“Fucking shit, Christ, fuck,” she said as quietly as she could. People at the next table glanced her way and then looked away again, mistaking her slight quaking for some kind of congenital tremor. She felt the orgasm rising inside her and slouched in her seat, scooching her ass forward, rocking her hips from side to side, anything to get more of that delicious toe up inside her, that talented toe that worked her. Now on her clit. Wiggle. Wiggle. Now on her lips. Sliding back and forth and oops! In we go! And back out and up to the clit again and wiggle wiggle wiggle. Fuck, yeah, wiggle! She was really shaking now and totally on the verge. Porsche pushed her hips forward in her chair, jamming the toe in deep and then out quickly, up to the clit and rubbing around in circles and Willow erupted. She tried to cough to cover her gasps and moans. Porsche popped her toe in one last little quick jab and then rested her arch against the throbs of Willow’s pussy just as the edamame and seaweed salad arrived.

 11

SOPHIA WAS MEETING TOMMY for a drink. She had on a Jil Sander dress and vintage Louboutins and was wearing a hat. She didn’t often wear a hat but she’d found a real vintage straw cloche and she just couldn’t resist. She looked like a 1920’s film star in it and she only wore it when she really wanted to get attention.

As she waited for Tommy to arrive, she thought about when the two of them were at Microsoft. They’d been two women developers in a sea of geek males, gravitating toward each other first because they were female, then because they were lesbians. They’d stayed friends after finding out they liked the same restaurants and made each other laugh. It had taken over a year for Sophia to come out to Tommy as a dominatrix. Tommy had looked serious, nodded her head a few times, then replied, “I always use a strap-on ... I don’t like to be pussy licked but I LOVE to fuck my women! Now, is that enough revealing of personal details for one night? I’d really like to shoot some pool.”

A week later, they’d gone back to Tommy’s place and Sophia had gotten fucked. A week after that, she’d gone and gotten fucked again. Tommy sometimes wore a double-headed dildo and they’d come simultaneously or pretty damn close. Tommy would occasionally eat Sophia out, but usually it was straight to the strap-on and fucking and fucking and fucking. Sophia had a tireless pussy and both enjoyed the raw animal nature of their sexual encounters.

The relationship had never moved past fuck buddies and into something more serious. Tommy dated other woman off and on but wouldn’t commit to anyone. Sophia had her string of subs to minister to. Both found their friendship to be the perfect fit.

Tommy entered the bar and headed over to Sophia. She had on a sleek short wig and hoop earrings. She wore a shiny blue-black raw silk suit, the jacket buttoned and her cleavage spilling out. She was shod in a beautiful pair of heels. Her eyes were Cleopatra’d in blue liner and her large lips wore glossy apple-red stain. She looked incredibly badass.

“Hey, look at you! Miss Mama in her hat!”

“No, look at you! What an incredible suit! Is that a…wig?”

“Hell, yes.”

They laughed and hugged each other quickly.

“It’s stunning,” said Sophia. “Very Josephine Baker.”

The bartender came over and Sophia ordered a Sidecar and Tommy ordered a Perfect Manhattan. She told Sophia, “My Auntie used to make me Perfect Manhattans when she’d come to visit with my Uncle. Every day at 4 o’clock, the three of us would sit in the living room and my Aunt would go over to the portable bar they carried with them when they traveled and she’d fix us these drinks. Those were the best Perfect Manhattans ever! I don’t even know why I order them ... they aren’t ever as good as my Auntie’s.”

“I first heard about Sidecars in some detective novel from the 40’s. They’re a sexy little drink, don’t you think?”

“So, what’s up with you?” Tommy asked when the drinks arrived.

Sophia sighed. “Nothing really. I’m kind of off my game right now. I can’t get interested in my subs. Well, actually ... I can’t get interested in much of anything. I’m in a funk.”

“And what caused this funk? You know you’re going to tell me eventually, so quit hemming and hawing and tell me what happened! Unless you want to wait two or three more drinks and then tell me.”

Sophia told Tommy about the incident with Mrs. Pea.

“Ha, ha, ha. Oh, girl!” Tommy broke into a fit of giggles, jumping off her barstool and grabbing her belly. “Oooh! That is rich. Sweet Jesus. Ooooh!” She wiped the tears from her eyes.

Sophia raised her eyebrows and waited dryly for Tommy to finish.

Tommy sipped her drink and continued to dab at the Cleopatra eyes. Then she burst out laughing all over again. “HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Heeh, heeeh ... Oh, no. Mrs. Pea?”

“Mrs. Pea.”

“OK, OK...forgive me,” Tommy said. “No, on second thought, don’t, because here I go again! Ha ha haaaa!”

“Fine.”

“No, no ... Wait. Give me a sec.”

“No, really it’s fine. You’re right, it’s hilarious.”

“Soph, you know, it kind of is ... but, wait, OK, now, I get that you can’t appreciate the humor of the situation right now because you’re in it.” She took another sip of her drink. “I know this is serious for you. What’re you going to do?”

“What do you mean, what am I going to do?”

“Are you going to hook up with her again? In the bathroom ... with your panties around your ankles?”

“Again with the barrel laughs? I just want to ... hell ... I want to both get over it and get back to my life pre-Pea and I want to ... what? Dive into being a sub? What the fuck is that about?”

“Exactly.” Tommy took a big gulp of her Manhattan and raised her hand to the bartender to indicate another round required.

They both sat in silence for a while.

“I’m surprised. This really seems to have ... derailed you.”

“It has, but you know what? FUCK THAT. I am not the kind of gal that gets derailed by some old lady no matter how hot she makes me! I’m getting back on my fucking game!”

“You go.” Tommy sipped daintily at her second Manhattan.

There was more drinking, some dinner, and then more drinking before a cab deposited them outside Tommy’s place.

“Coming in?” Tommy asked as she swayed slightly in the breeze.

“I’m going home to pass out.”

“That sounds just like my plan. Get yourself into that cab then and depart, Mistress S., before he decides to take a fare elsewhere.”

They kissed deeply, then pulled themselves apart, and Sophia got into the cab and slurred out her address.

 “Did she call you?” Willow asked.

“Yes! And boy, she sounded ... firm.” Porsche smiled widely.

“Well, it’s about time! Of course, I haven’t missed her so much since we ... ”

 Porsche, who was a winker, winked at Willow now over the top of her café latte. “Sophia doesn’t need to know anything about our get-togethers. They’re two separate things really.”

Willow knew that wasn’t true, but she let it pass. She was thrilled to have been ordered to return to Sophia’s on Saturday night. The details had intrigued her. She was told exactly what to wear, when to shower, what perfume and makeup to wear, how to enter the apartment, and what position to take once she arrived. The level of detail and the stern tone of Sophia’s commands made the young lawyer giddy with anticipation.

She glanced at Porsche, who was reading USA Today with latte foam on her upper lip.

She was having fun with her ... wasn’t she? She certainly was coming a lot. But weren’t they supposed to be Sophia’s subs? Besides, when they weren’t fucking what did they have in common? Porsche hated The Wall Street Journal. “Where’s the funnies?” she’d complained. “Where’s the horoscope?” Willow responded to quotes from Shakespeare whispered in her ear, not blow-by-blow accounts from Keeping Up with the Kardashians. And while Willow liked to shop as much as the next gal, Porsche was so materialistic. The girl practically worshipped at the altar of Barney’s. Now Porsche was jeopardizing what Willow wanted most, which was to be dominated by a beautiful woman, her beautiful woman. Her darling Sophia.

Porsche had read the same sentence five times ... Fuck this and fuck Sophia! Willow and I were doing just fine without that distraction! I can be dominant ... I can ... top Sophia!

“I’m heading out now ... um ... I won’t be able to see you tonight ... I want to get ready for Saturday.”

A big smile from Porsche. “No problem, sweetie. I was thinking the same thing.”

Fuck Sophia!

12

IT WAS SATURDAY.

Sophia lay back in her bubble bath, inhaling the scent of tuberose and honeysuckle. She sipped a little Angelica sherry from a tiny hand blown glass and went over the plan for the evening’s festivities. She felt like a woman thrown from a horse who had, until now, been afraid to get back on. Afraid of another big fall, afraid of injury. Now she’d bitch-slapped that horse, ripped off the saddle, and jumped on bareback thrusting spurs into its sides. She was back and back with a vengeance. There would be no distraction tonight. There would be no lack of control. There would be simply the most exquisite BDSM experience of the decade.

She raised up, rinsed off, toweled dry, and spritzed some Bulgari Black onto her breasts and pussy, wrists and neck. She inhaled. Lovely. Divine. Then she went to her lingerie cabinet and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for: an ensemble so feather light, so sheer ... it was like a whisper of fabric in her hands. She cut off the tags, not looking at the price. She remembered keenly what she’d paid for this tiny scrap of cloth and it still made her wince. Worth it. Totally, totally worth it. She slipped into the sheer silk G-string, its small patch at the front encrusted with Swarovski crystals, pearls, and, yes, even tiny diamond chips. The strings around her waist seemed no thicker than a hair, the one up her ass only slightly thicker. She put on the bra, which was of the same sheer fabric, two small triangular patches of silk, and beautiful beadwork that barely covered her nipples. The rest was open string work, crisscrossing her breasts and décolletage, the straps so thin a single snap fastened it in place. She slipped on a pair of vintage stilettos. The beadwork on the shoes mimicked the beadwork on her lingerie perfectly. The shoes were ivory velvet and had never been worn ... not even by Sophia. She’d been keeping them for a very special occasion. Tonight fit the bill. She looked in the mirror.

Totally, totally worth it.

She couldn’t help but thrust her hips forward and back a few times. Sexy underwear did that to her.

She went to the closet and pulled out an ivory silk dress. Long sleeved, high collared, the skirt coming down just below her knees. Stern. Liquid and stern. Just like Sophia.

She was careful with her makeup. Dark eyeliner, a little heavier than her usual, and a dark-red—almost brown—lipstick, then gloss on top. She looked so good she wanted to kiss herself.

She went into the kitchen. Everything was ready.

She went into the living room, the bedroom. All was ready.

She poured herself a glass of Club Soda.

She sipped, and grabbed Future Shock off the shelf, whipped it open to where she’d left off the day before, and began to read.

13

“YOU HAVE TO GET OUT! Now, Porsche! Go!” Willow pushed her busty pal toward the door.

“Really? It’s 2 in the afternoon! We don’t have to be there until 7 ... what the ... ”

“Go! I not only prepare physically but I have to prepare mentally. Don’t you? Now get out!”

“I have to prepare mentally, blah blah blahbettyblah…” Porsche walked out the door without another word.

Willow stood trembling. “This is not working. This is not working. What the hell have I gotten myself into? What am I going to do?”

She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a Blue Moon beer. She popped the top and made sure to put it in the recycle bin, not the regular trash as she’d seen Porsche do. She took a good slug, then another. She never drank before a session with Sophia—it was prohibited—but right now she needed something to gird her loins and the Blue Moon helped.

She sat down on her bed, glancing over at tonight’s required attire, and burst into tears.

Porsche strolled down the street vigorously. Like, first I have to picture myself under my mistress and then I have to picture myself in front of my mistress and then I have to picture myself a PIECE OF SHIT! Tears welled up in her eyes. And then I have to picture myself ... picture ... ooohh. What the fuck does Sophia have that I don’t have? Why can’t she “prepare” for me?

And then Porsche really started to cry as it hit her like a brick truck.

She was in love with Willow.

Ten minutes before 7.

Sophia closed her book, stretched her legs out straight, reached her arms over her head, and yawned like a cat. She glanced around the room, surveying it carefully, verifying that everything was in place.

She went into the bathroom and reapplied her lipstick, then double-checked that all toys were where they should be. Tonight was going to be ... right. It was going to ... she didn’t know how to put it…it was going to put her back where she belonged. Not to her subs, but to herself. She yearned to have her power back and she knew tonight would do it.

On the stroke of 7, she heard a key in the door and then the sound of it softly shutting behind ... whom? Willow or Porsche? Certainly, it was Willow. She’d never be late. Porsche was proving to be a disappointment. She didn’t take this seriously. If she didn’t show marked improvement, tonight would be the last night she would be invited over. There were plenty of subs out there. It wasn’t worth wasting time on a woman who couldn’t follow protocol.

She glanced at the clock. Two minutes after. By now, Willow would be sitting on the new orange chair in the living room, a Flight Recliner from Design Within Reach. She’d once overheard a woman saying, “Design Within Reach? Within reach for who? RICH FOLKS, that’s who! I can’t even afford the knock-offs!”

For Sophia it was all within reach. And reach she did.

Willow would be straddling the chair, her back straight, each leg thrown over one of the chair’s arms. She’d be open, waiting, her pussy dripping by the time Sophia deigned to enter the room. Her arms would be up over her head, clasping the back of the chair. She’d have on the black hood that had been placed there for her and she’d be wearing a frilly black satin bra and tap pants set. She’d look beautiful.

Seven after. The door opened again and closed rather loudly and then, “Oopsy!”

Porsche had arrived.

14

SOPHIA TAPPED HER TOE and waited. The girl should be getting herself positioned at the dining table. Lying on the dining table, her arms and legs should be spread out a la Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. If she’d done it correctly, there should be a pillow under her hips, raising her pussy for display: her pussy couched in red lace panties with slits front and back. Her nipples should be rouged deep red and peeking up over a cupless red lace bra. A red silk blindfold and black rubber ball gag had been left for her to don. Sophia wondered if Porsche had obeyed her.

Porsche lay splayed out on the dining table. I wonder if she’ll eat sushi off me ... OK, OK, time to drop the sarcasm. I wanted to explore this side of myself ... I need to take this seriously. And, fuck! I am waaay turned on. Where is she?

Sophia entered the living room silently. Sophia loved tap pants. The short extremely loose leg openings provided ample opportunity to attend to the pussy. Now, on Willow, they had fallen to one side and half of Willow’s sex lay exposed. Sophia approached and gently touched Willow’s clit through the thin satin fabric with a wet finger. Willow shivered involuntarily but stilled herself as quickly as possible and didn’t make a sound. Sophia gazed with approval at Willow’s attention to detail. Everything was as Sophia had commanded. And she did look beautiful.

Next, Sophia strolled over to Porsche. She too was as Sophia had ordered—and by this Sophia was mildly surprised. She was prepared to be disappointed in Porsche but the girl was laid out perfectly on a large, black silk-covered pillow, her arms and legs extended, the red lace of her panties just barely covering her pussy. The nipples of her titties, peeping out of the lace, were rosy and hard. Her glossy red lips encircled the black ball of the gag. A tiny smear of red had transferred to the black ball, a little dot just outside Porsche’s mouth, and for some reason the speck made Sophia’s cunt clutch up then release, an unexpected delight.

Sophia ran a fingernail from Porsche’s instep up to her inner thigh. Porsche started to whimper, but caught herself, and clenched the ball gag more firmly in her mouth, tasting the rubber. Sophia’s fingernail dug into the soft flesh of Porsche’s skin just below her panties. Porsche remained motionless and silent. Sophia smiled warmly.

In a box near the dining table were several of the toys Sophia had chosen for this evening. She opened the box and took out some lube and a dildo. The lube was one of those self-warming blends, and Sophia popped the cap and squeezed a small glob onto her fingertips, then she pushed her fingers inside the little red panties and slathered the lube onto Porsche’s lips, pushing them open with her fingers and allowing the lube to work its way around. Then Sophia pinched the lips together and squeezed. Porsche breathed deeply through her nose, her body tense now with anticipation. Sophia lubed up the dildo ... a nice blue one, eight inches long. She placed the tip at the opening of the panties and pushed gently forward. Porsche raised up very, very slightly, but enough for Sophia to withdraw the dildo in punishment. Porsche quickly relaxed her bottom and fell back onto the pillow underneath her. But it was too late, Sophia had moved away.

Willow strained to hear what was happening from under her hood. Her entire body was tingling with tension. She was so ready, so very ready. She heard Sophia’s footfalls, muffled by the Oriental rug, coming toward her. Oh, yes, sweet Jesus let her be FIRM with me. Without warning, a dildo was jammed in the tap pants and up her pussy then pulled out and jammed in again and again and again.

“Aaaaaahhhhhhh!” Willow cried in a whisper-scream.

“I’ll allow it.”

The dildo moved in and out and in and out, each time a little deeper, a little meaner.

“Do you like that? Do you like being fucked hard?”

“Yes, Mistress!” Tears of joy cascaded down Willow’s cheeks. She was in heaven.

“Move your hips when I fuck you. Slam against this cock. Do it now.”

Willow flung her hips up and back and up and back in rhythm with the dildo.

“Oh ... ” Willow said, then halted.

“Say it! Tell me how it feels!”

“It feels ... so good. SO GOOD. OH, FUCK! OH, FUCK ME, MISTRESS SOPHIA! FUCK ME SOOOOO GOOOOOD. SHOVE IT UP ME! OH, GOD, YES!”

Sophia stopped immediately.

Willow fell back. Tense with hope.

“Good girl.”

Willow lay still, her pussy throbbing with some pain and a huge amount of pleasure. Her mind throbbed ... Oh, please! Oh, please! Oh, please!

Sophia strode jauntily over to Porsche, who had craftily adjusted her blindfold so she could just catch a glimpse of Willow in the orange chair. She’d watched Sophia fucking Willow with a mixture of envy and delight, as her glistening pussy revealed.

Sophia held a small pair of scissors. She snipped off the tissue thin panties and immediately began massaging Porsche’s slick lips with the palm of her hand. Putting down the scissors, she brought her other hand up, slipped two fingers into Porsche and began rocking them back and forth; finger-fucking the girl in a slow gentle motion.

Porsche lay immobile, but as tense as a wire.

Sophia whispered into her ear, “Did you enjoy watching me fuck Willow? Do you want a big cock inside you too?” She inserted a third finger and continued the gentle fuck. “Would that make you one happy little girl?” Then four. “How about it? You want more?” Then her entire hand, as Porsche opened up to accept her. The fistfuck continued at a slow, leisurely pace. Porsche was unable to stop herself from moaning with pleasure as she felt Sophia inside her, filling her, the fingers wiggling ever so slightly, ever so gently, making every nerve-ending pulse with glee.

Sophia removed her hand slowly and moved up to Porsche’s face. Sophia’s lips opened as she engulfed the ball gag. She held her lips against Porsche’s until they quivered.

Sophia returned to Willow and, once again, without delay began fucking her with the dildo. She reached down and pinched Willow’s right nipple then her left. Willow whimpered with joy. The pain felt so good, she never wanted Sophia to stop. Sophia plunged the dildo in and out, watching her sub’s reaction as the dildo was inserted, pulled out and inserted again, the pink flesh swallowing the dildo over and over, the tap pants soaked, clinging to her thigh, her pussy exposed. Sophia pulled two nipple clamps from a little pocket in her dress, shoved Willow’s bra up, and clamped first one and then the other onto Willow’s sweet little nips. When Sophia pushed the cock in hard again, Willow could hold on no longer. Her entire body spasmed, rocking out of the chair and back, as the climax hit her with the force of a moving car.

“OmagodomagodomamamaGOOOOOODDDDD.”

Sophia left her to go to Porsche. She brought out another dildo, a smaller red one, and lubed it up. Without preamble, she jammed it up Porsche’s ass and, to her surprise, the girl immediately gushed, lifting herself up off the pillow, up off the table until she was holding herself by her heels and head. She jerked and shook for nearly a minute before falling back against the table with a bang.

Sophia smiled with satisfaction.

“Willow. Porsche. Get dressed and leave me now. Both of you disappoint. I gave no permission for release. There was so much more to this evening ... and now you’ve both ruined it with your lack of control. Get dressed and leave.” Sophia sashayed out of the room, entirely pleased.

Willow and Porsche removed their headgear and looked across the room at each other with saucer eyes.

“Holy Mother of God,” Porsche breathed.

Willow gasped and giggled a little then put her hand to her pussy. “I’ll be feeling this for a week!”

Both women got up slowly and grappled with their clothes, then ran for the door and shut it gently behind them.

Porsche was bewildered. She felt used, cheap, and totally fucking awesome. She glanced at Willow who just looked shell-shocked.

“You OK?” Porsche whispered.

“I’m ... blissed out,” Willow whispered back.

Porsche didn’t even ask to stay at Willow’s. A shift had occurred. Porsche understood now that what Sophia offered Willow was way beyond Porsche’s ability to provide. Now she had to figure out if she wanted to be another one of Sophia’s stable of subs or if she needed to get out of the lifestyle before she lost herself in it completely.

Out on the street Porsche breathed in the crisp air. She walked down the block, gazing across the street, taking the occasional glimpse into a townhouse window, a man bouncing on his couch cheering as his team scored, a woman yelling at her teenage daughter who stood with her arms on her hips and her face fierce, an empty dining room blazing with lights. The rows of bare cypress trees that lined the streets resembled sentries on duty. For some reason, all these things made Porsche even sadder.

Willow walked gingerly to her shower and climbed in. She let the water cascade over her nipples, which still carried the indentation of the clamps, and over her oh-so-sore pussy. Her lips felt like they were on fire. She gently soaped up her body, slipping a finger into her pussy then out and in again to recreate the feeling she’d experienced at Sophia’s. Mistress Sophia’s. She leaned against the shower wall and gently fucked herself, barely able to take the pain she relished.

What an odd girl I am, she thought as the climax covered her like a cloak. She slid to the floor of the shower and let the water wash over her.

“What a waste of great lingerie! They didn’t even last long enough to see it!” Sophia chuckled. “I am GOOD.” Next time I’ll make them wait. But it was perfect. They were at my command. She was Mistress again and felt the power of that position flowing through her like a drug. She stretched out on her bed, rolled to one side then the other, and then stretched again. She purred like a kitten, then her thoughts turned to pleasuring herself. She petted her bush a half dozen times as she contemplated which of her toys she would use on herself, but before she could put thought into action, the phone rang.

“Hello!” she said gaily.

“Hello, dear, I hope you don’t mind me calling you at home but I was just thinking about you ... ”

The color drained from Sophia’s face. It was the voice of Mrs. Pea.

15

“DEAR? ARE YOU THERE?”

“Yes ... ” She spoke in a little girl’s whisper. Then Sophia bit her lip and swung herself into a sitting position. “Yes. What can I do for you?” Stronger.

“I really enjoyed this little pair of frillies you gave me, but the stink has worn off them, dear, and I was wondering if I might obtain another pair of your little delicate panties to sniff at my leisure. Shall we meet?”

Sophia’s mind was racing. She desperately wanted to meet Mrs. Pea again but she knew she didn’t want to fall back into the confusion that had so engulfed her the last time.

“Dear?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll meet you.”

“Let’s make it the same place, shall we? Tuesday at, oh, let’s say…5:30.”

“5 will work better for me.” Sophia tried for equal footing.

Mrs. Pea chuckled. “5:30 is when I’ll be there. You do what you will.”

The phone went dead. Sophia stared down at it, then threw it across the room.

“Next!” Porsche called out, surly as hell. God, she was sick of the smell of coffee.

“A double cap mach.”

“Double cap mach. $3.95.”

The customer handed her four ones, then dropped the nickel change in the tip jar and walked away.

“Oh, thanks a lot! The college fund is ensured now, moron,” Porsche muttered.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She whipped it out and checked the screen. Willow. Again. Willow had called half a dozen times in the last two days but Porsche ignored the calls. She loved Willow. At least, sometimes she thought she did. No, she did love her. But she was stung by the realization that she couldn’t replace Sophia. Willow would always want and need Sophia in her life. Porsche would never be enough. She wasn’t ready to be an addendum to Willow’s sex life. She wasn’t willing to share that little pussy with Sophia. If she couldn’t be Willow’s one-and-only, she didn’t want to be her anything, certainly not her friend—at least, not yet. She was embarrassed to tell Willow all this, so she just ignored her calls.

Willow looked at her cell phone, held it up to her ear again, then sighed and hung up. She’d already left a bunch of messages for Porsche; she was tired of saying the same thing over and over. The last session at Sophia’s had been awesome. It had been exactly what Willow had needed. She knew her place, knew with all her heart that she belonged to Sophia and that the dalliance with Porsche was over. She needed to devote herself to her mistress. She didn’t need the relationship with Porsche, but she desperately needed to be Sophia’s sub. She hoped Porsche would understand. She’d have to, after their last session with Sophia, wouldn’t she? How could she not? And hadn’t Porsche been just as affected as Willow had been? Wouldn’t Porsche be a willing sub to Mistress Sophia now too? Of course, if Willow was being honest with herself, she hoped Porsche wouldn’t be returning to Mistress Sophia’s. She wanted Sophia all to herself. But she wanted to end things with Porsche ... right. She wanted ... well, she wanted Porsche to still like her, as silly as that sounded. She didn’t want bad blood between them. Couldn’t they be friends?

Besides Porsche still had a $200 belt of hers.

She dropped her phone in her purse and went back to reading the legal brief in front of her.

Sophia called Tommy.

“She called.”

“Who?” Tommy cradled the phone against her ear as she spooned a mouthful of bread pudding into her mouth. “I’m making bread pudding.”

“Mrs. Pea ... and when you are done laughing ... Tommy ... when you are done ... WHEN YOU ARE DONE LAUGHING…”

“All right. All right. I…whew, I have control. There’s bread pudding on the ceiling though. So, she called!”

“Yes, and she wants me to meet her. Tommy, you have to help me. I ... You and I have known each other a long time. What the hell has happened to me? I refuse to let this woman turn me into some horny woozy-ass teenager.”

“I see.”

“I mean it, Tommy. What the fuck? You know me. What do you think is going on?”

“I think the Lady Dominatrix wants a little time off and might want to be that horny out of control teenager, that’s what I think.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No. That’s definitely not it.”

“Uh huh. Well, I gotta go.”

“No! Help me!”

“Well, sweet thing, you asked me my opinion. I gave it to you. You totally discounted it. So ... ”

“I’m sorry. I just ... do you really think I want to be a SUB? Oh, my God.”

“Honey, everyone wants to be a dom sometimes and everyone wants to be a sub sometimes. And if not, they should. It’s yin and yang, baby. Now you are totally the Mistress of all domi mistresses. Known in her community. The grand dame. Famous in many ways and for good reason. But everybody has a Sunday, know what I mean? Everyone wants to take a holiday now and then. Your holiday is Mrs. Pea and becoming a total mush ball in front of her. Didn’t you say you were dripping wet from the experience? And for some time afterward? Now I know you, you used to get like that when you had a sub underfoot, but lately ... well, I’ve noticed that it was getting to be a little routine, and you weren’t getting as turned on. Am I right?”

“Yeeesssss ... yeah, yes. You are right.”

“So along comes Mrs. Pea and she has some kind of something that makes you quiver. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Quivering—yes, that’s good. But the total lack of control? I hate it!”

“Ha, ha, yeah, baby. You get to experience what your subs do with you. But, do you really hate it? Isn’t it a little enticing, a little exhilarating, to be at the mercy of someone else? To have someone else paying attention to all the details and directing the play? All you have to do is stand there, flooding your panties.”

“But I LOVE being a top!”

“Hell, yes! And, Sophia, you are sincerely the best. I’ve heard it from numerous sources. Remember, Mrs. Pea, she’s just a little vacation for you—a little break. Maybe even a way to recharge so you can go back to your subs refreshed.

Sophia sighed and stared off into space. Was Tommy right? Could she just have a “Mrs. Pea vacation” every once in a while and still retain her sense of self? Was she making too much out of it? No. She remembered too vividly that sense of losing herself, of not being able to connect to her strong dominant persona for weeks. Mrs. Pea had sucked her personality out of her like some kind of vampire bitch. Mrs. Pea was dangerous. She wasn’t just a holiday. For whatever reason, Mrs. Pea had the power to turn Sophia into ... into Willow. And if that happened Sophia wasn’t sure she’d have the ability to come back to herself.

She bit her lip. What was she going to do?

16

PEARL SCOOTED DOWN the hallway, maneuvering around the mail boy with his little metal cart, the sandwich boy with his sizeable basket, and a few attorneys having a meeting on the fly. She made herself a mental note to check with the sandwich boy; something had smelled yummy, like truffle oil, as she flew past. She grabbed the doorjamb and spun into Willow’s office.

“There’s a woman in the lobby for you.”

“I don’t have anything scheduled.”

“I know, I’m your assistant, remember? I know when you have someone and when you don’t. She won’t leave. She says she’s a personal friend and that she’ll wait till you have five minutes. She’s ... there are tears in her eyes.”

Willow covered her eyes with her hands. “Please. Send. Her. Back.”

Pearl turned on her heel and headed out. A moment later, Porsche slunk in.

“Hey, I’m sorry ... ”

“You can’t just come here!”

“I know…I…you won’t return my calls!”

“Porsche. Look. Isn’t it clear from what happened”—this part in a whisper—“at Mistress Sophia’s ... that ... well, we shouldn’t be a we? Besides, you ignored my calls for at least a week! I tried to contact you and you ignored me. Now you turn around and show up in tears? At my office? No. You can’t do this. I will not have dyke drama unfolding in my office. You have to go.”

Porsche exploded into sobs.

“No! No! Oh, for Christ’s sake! Goddamn it!” Willow flew across the room and shut the door. She did the one thing she promised never to do—she lowered her blinds. “Let the gossip begin!” she raged. She took a deep breath, led the soppy mess over to the couch, and sat next to her.

“Porsche. Remember how we met? With our asses puckered up and thrust out for Mistress Sophia’s inspection? Come on. You had to know in your heart this was just going to be a fling!”

“I wanted to go to London and Paris and you were going to buy me a big fucking diamond ring and maybe even a car and I wasn’t going to have to work at fucking Starbuck’s the rest of my life!”

“What?”

“I ... we ... we ... ”

“This is all about the stuff I could have bought you? Are you serious?”

“It was about our life! How fun and exciting we could ... ” Porsche trailed off in wonder. Oh, shit, am I really that shallow? “I should fucking go.”

“Porsche! What ... ”

“You’re right. I’m a fucking awful twat who only cares about clothes and cars and flats in London and someone flying me to the fucking Eiffel Tower. I’m a complete waste.”

“Porsche ... ”

“I’m sorry. For barging in here, for ... everything.”

“Wait. Look. Let me check my schedule and see if I can take an early lunch. We’ll go somewhere.”

“See, there you are being a nice girl, even after you find out I’m a user-loser. Don’t do that! Don’t be nice to me. That would be the worst thing ever! Just ... let me get out of here with a shred of dignity.”

Willow looked down at her hands then back up into Porsche’s eyes. The girl pulled out a balled-up Kleenex and wiped her eyes and nose. Her face was a mess of blotchy red and white. She blew, then got up and went quickly out of the office.

Willow raised her shades, returned to her desk, then sat like a zombie for twenty minutes before her next client.

Porsche kept her face down and walked as fast as she could to the bus stop. She got on the first bus that came, hoping it was heading toward her apartment, but not willing to stand in public waiting for her regular Number 7. Luckily, she was headed in the general direction of her place and was able to get off about four blocks away and scurry home. Once inside, she grabbed a new box of Kleenex out of the closet and a beer out of the fridge and sat on the couch, shell-shocked.

I’m a depthless, hollow, superficial cunt! I’m a dud.

She took a slug of beer and blew into a fresh tissue.

Have I always been this way? Do I really love things more than people? I thought I loved Willow ... did I really just love her money? Is it so wrong to want to be taken to Paris and treated to pretty clothes and taken out to fancy restaurants?

Fresh tears poured down her cheeks.

I’d have done it for myself if I could have! I didn’t have the opportunities Willow had! I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth! I ... who am I trying to kid? I could have put myself through college. I could have made better choices. I could be working my ass off right now at Starbuck’s and get a manager position. I just don’t. I don’t even try.

Huge amounts of self-pity tears cascaded out as Porsche slumped over in defeat. She sat up and took another slug of beer.

My life is a fucking disaster. My sister paid my rent the last two months, my bills are astronomical, my car is about to die and will never pass the smog test, I’m hated at my job because I come in late, leave early, am surly to the customers. I eat crap, I don’t exercise. I make fun of everyone. I’m condescending, critical, and ignorant.

No tears this time just a terse pull of beer. It was gone.

Porsche grabbed her purse, rummaged for her cell phone, and dialed.

“Are you OK?”

“Yes, thanks. Willow, I am so sorry about today and ... ”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I do need to worry about it. I’m a crass classless fuck. But I don’t want to be. Not anymore. I want to be ... I want to be more like you. Concerned about me even when I used you. How do you do that?”

“Porsche, you are not a crass classless fuck.”

“Yes, I am. I know it. But, would you ... can you help me to not be? I mean, I don’t even know where to start. Can you give me nice lessons?”

Willow laughed. “Oh, honey! You are nice. But, yes, I can ... I don’t know ... help you show your good side more.”

“Sounds lame, I know, but yes, I have got to get my head together. Help me?”

“If that’s what you really want.”

“It’s definitely what I want. My life is a fucking shambles.”

“First piece of advice, drop the fucking. It’s not pretty language for a nice girl like you.”

Sophia sat in her blue mohair chair, enjoying a late afternoon glass of iced tea. The tea was a pleasant blend of youth berry and orange blossom. She’d found it at a trendy little teashop next to the Coach store. She’d been shopping for a new purse but didn’t find what she wanted. As she left the store, a young man had accosted her with a little plastic cup half filled with pink liquid. Usually, she walked past these sample-mongers without a word, but that day she’d been a little parched so she’d taken the cup and drank. It was delicious! She’d ended up spending over a hundred bucks on the two types of tea. At home, she brewed them separately—one took a two-minute steep, the other a five-minute steep—then combined them in one pitcher: Ambrosia.

Sophia had a tablet on her lap and had begun writing down all the pros and cons of Mrs. Pea.

Pro: She makes me feel like no one else makes me feel.

Technically, Sophia was the “bottom” in most of her interactions with Tommy, but she still remained a powerful force to be reckoned with, pushing back against Tommy as hard as she got: demanding to be fucked, not quietly taking it. So, no, she wasn’t really subby with Tommy. But with Mrs. Pea? Yes. It was like she was Superman and Mrs. Pea carried around a hunk of kryptonite in that gorgeous purse of hers. The power just drained out of Sophia when she’d entered that bathroom. Was that a bad thing? She wasn’t sure. That’s what the list was about.

Pro: She makes me feel like no one else makes me feel. And how was that? Wet. Completely dripping with desire. That feeling she’d had when she was sixteen and wanted to hump everything and anything and would go into the bathrooms at school and jam her hand up inside herself just to relieve some of the intense pressure of swirling teenage hormones.

Con: I am powerless when I am with her.

Now, was that true? She couldn’t remember clearly enough if she was powerless or if she’d let go of her power. Was there a difference? And was another encounter with Mrs. Pea going to harm her irrevocably or would she always be able to return to her good old domi self, albeit after some time had passed? Could she retain some of her power in Mrs. Pea’s presence or would that ruin the whole experience?

She tapped the pen against the pad then threw both the pen and pad across the room onto the couch. She reclined back in her chair and took another sip of her delicious iced tea.

I’ll have to see her again. That’s all there is to it. I can’t know until I know.

She thought back to their phone conversation.

“Hello, dear, I hope you don’t mind me calling you at home but I was just thinking about you ... ”

It was Monday. Tuesday was the meeting. Would it be another hand-off of damp panties and see you later? Would Mrs. Pea have something else in mind? Would she take her home with her? More importantly, was Sophia ready to totally submit to Mrs. Pea and let her dictate the events of the evening?

“Anything for you, Mrs. Pea!” she said breathily and took another sip of her tea. Hmmmm. Don’t like that so much. “How about, Get on your knees, bitch, and come and eat my underwear off me, you want to taste me so bad!” Woo hoo. That was more like it! But then she wouldn’t get so turned on, would she? Wasn’t it the way Mrs. Pea took complete control that made her wet her pants?

“I don’t need to be in control all the time,” she said to the walls. “I could be a Willow for awhile.”

Her tea finished, she got up and picked up her glass, the pad, and the pen and tidied up a bit. Then she went to her closet to find the perfect outfit for her meeting with Mrs. Pea.

17

SOPHIA LOOKED IN THE MIRROR and sighed. No. This wouldn’t do either. She glanced over at the pile of clothes on her bed, including the new outfit she’d bought yesterday especially for her meeting with Mrs. Pea. Nothing looked right. Nothing was making her feel right. She rifled through the clothes in her closet once again, looking for the Holy Grail of perfect outfits.

She was biting the inside of her cheek and turning left and right in her one vintage Chanel suit, when she glanced at the art deco clock on her nightstand.

“No! No! It can’t be that late!”

Sophia grabbed her black and white Louboutin stilettos and her purse. In her haste, the purse fell and the contents went flying. “Damn it!” Sophia bent down and began to gather up her thin leather wallet, keys, and lipstick. The cap popped off the lipstick and rolled under the couch out of reach. “Oh, for the love of ... Screw it.” She ran for the door.

Once outside the building, she looked left and right for the doorman. He was nowhere to be found. She held her arm straight up in the air and waved her hand frantically at the passing cabs.

“Come on! Come on, you bastards.”

She stepped into the street.

“I will stand in the middle of the freakin’ street if I have to ... Stop!”

A taxi came to a screeching halt a foot from her. She yanked open the back door and leapt in. Her heart was racing. She gave the address then settled back to collect herself. A few moments passed before she realized they weren’t moving very fast.

“If you take ... ”

“Lady, please, I been driving taxi here for twenty years ... ”

“Yes, but if you take ... ”

“Lady, trust me, I know the best route to take.”

“But ... ”

“You want me to take Carleton—am I right? Well, Carleton is jammed right now because of the game. Whaddaya think all this fuckin’ traffic’s about? Relax. I’ll get you there.”

Sophia looked at the bald head of the driver. She looked at the folds at the back of his neck, at his shirt collar, at his ears. She looked at her watch. There was still time, but just barely. He was right, she needed to relax.

Finally, the cab pulled up in front of the bar. Sophia leapt out, throwing cash through the window, and sprinting in her four-inch heels for the door. She glanced for the millionth time at her watch: 5:32 P.M.

Whew! She had made it!

She entered Happy Betty’s and quickly glanced around. There were a few lesbians scattered around, watching the game on the bar’s TV—just as she entered a roar of approval went up as someone scored or fumbled or something—and a couple, deep in conversation, at one of the little tables. She had beaten Mrs. Pea there. Everything was going to be fine. She’d decided she was going to let Mrs. Pea take charge, but had promised herself to hold back just a little, just enough to remember who she was in this town. Like Mrs. Pea herself had said, she was known. She’d built a reputation. She wasn’t some newbie who could be completely ...

Chance was approaching from the far end of the bar with a baby-blue envelope in her hand.

“For you.”

Sophia took the envelope. No ... no ... She opened it and pulled out a single slip of light blue stationary. On it were three words:  Late. Too bad.

Two minutes! She’d been two minutes late! No! This couldn’t be happening. She’d been gearing up for this meeting all week, going over it in her mind, replaying it like a scene she had to memorize. She’d thought of all the possibilities for how it could go—but not this. She hadn’t thought of this. And she knew, knew that, on the dot of 5:30, Mrs. Pea had handed Chance that envelope. Had maybe even hoped Sophia would be at least a second late so that she could leave. She knew, because she’d done it herself. Punishing the poor girl who hadn’t set her clock to Greenwich Mean Time. Punishing the girl who ... the girl whose taxi was caught in pre-game traffic.

All right, hold it together. You are in Happy Betty’s. They know you here.

Sophia crumpled the thin blue sheet in her hand and threw it on the bar, then she took a seat and ordered a martini. She made small talk with Chance about the game, the weather, and then, when she could, she got away from there and went back to her own place to weep with self-pity.

Willow sat cross-legged on Porsche’s bed, a small mountain range of credit card statements, past-due utility bills, parking tickets, and collection agency letters littering the powder-blue comforter.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

“I ... it’s ... ”

“How could you be this far in debt? What are all these charges?”

“Well ... clothes for one. And shoes. And I bought you presents!”

“I never would have accepted those things if I’d known you were living on credit cards! Oh, Porsche!”

“Oh, come on! You have a big salary! You can go into fucking Barney’s and you don’t even need to look at the sale rack. You can go straight to the latest shit they’ve put out and get whatever you want!”

“First of all, stop the swearing. We talked about that. Second, yes, I can pretty much buy whatever I want, but I don’t. I have a 401k and a portfolio—which is in the shitter right now, but which I hope will recover by the time I’m ready to retire ... and I earn that money. I work hard for it.”

“And I don’t work hard? And you said ‘shitter’ by the way.”

“Porsche, what do you want ... really want? If you want to be driving an Audi and wearing Chanel then you either need to find yourself one wealthy dyke or you need to come up with a plan for making that happen. And the wealthy dyke scenario usually comes with some pretty big strings. They’re either self-centered alkies, pathetic wipe-my-butt Prozac poppers, or self-absorbed pillow queens. Believe me, I’ve been down that road a few times.”

Willow smiled, but Porsche kept scowling and picking at the seams of the pillow she was holding.

“What am I supposed to do? I work at fu ... at Starbuck’s. I’m a barista for Christsakes!”

“Do you want to go back to school? Do you want to work your way up to manager and then maybe get a gig at corporate?”

“That rich bitch alkie thing doesn’t sound soooo bad ... ”

“Porsche!”

“Willow!”

Willow paged through some of the credit card bills, still blown away by the amount of money Porsche owed. She was over thirty thousand dollars in debt.

“How far behind on rent are you?”

“Couple of months,” she lied, not wanting to admit her sister had been footing her rent.

“Your car?”

“I actually own that shitbucket.”

“A Corolla is not a bad car.”

“It’s a 1985 and I’m the fourth owner. If I get one more year out of her I’ll be lucky.”

“Do you have any stocks or bonds?”

Porsche burst out laughing and shook her head.

“As your attorney, I feel I should inform you that bankruptcy may be your best bet.”

18

PORSCHE BURST OUT LAUGHING again until she saw Willow’s face and realized she wasn’t joking.

“No!” she shouted, throwing the pillow as she rose. “I can’t do that! Losers file for bankruptcy! And besides, doesn’t that mean I can’t have any credit cards?”

“I can go into the specifics with you later, but what it means is that your debt will be wiped clean and you can start over. I can help you create a budget and this is the hard part, you will have to stick to it. No more Marc Jacobs, no more Dior, no more Versace, no more ... ”

“What am I supposed to do for clothes?”

“There’s a stack of at least 30 pair of jeans in your closet! There are at least three Chanel purses ... ”

“Excuse me! Fall, winter, and spring! I don’t even have a summer Chanel yet, although I have my eye on one down at ... ”

“Porsche!”

Porsche walked over to the window and stared out. What was she going to do if she couldn’t buy Prada anymore?

Willow put the stack of papers down and walked over to her. She put her hands on Porsche’s shoulders and spun her around.

“So, which is it? Back to college or climb the Starbuck’s corporate ladder?”

Porsche’s mind was a blank. She didn’t want either option, but she knew in her bones she was too lazy for school. “Corporate!” Her voice reeked with faked enthusiasm.

“For cash for right now, you need to go through that goldmine of a closet of yours and pull out anything you don’t wear anymore. There’s a designer consignment store downtown that will take your stuff in a heartbeat! That’ll get you some cash for groceries, rent, and utilities. Then we can formulate a plan for your rise in the corporate world!”

Porsche grinned from ear to ear. Fucking Willow! Now I’m her special project.

“Into the closet with you!” Willow pushed Porsche toward the bedroom.

Willow slid back the closet door while Porsche flung herself onto her bed, a flutter of papers flying through the air, and groaned.

“Do we have to do it now?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. How about this?” Willow held up a sleeveless white Fendi dress.

“Got that ON SALE at Barney’s. It was only ... I think $800. A steal! That baby goes for nearly $1700 new. Now, tell me that wasn’t a good buy.”

Willow looked at Porsche with awe.

“I gotta keep that one, hon.” Porsche rolled over and sat up on her knees watching Willow rummage in her closet, noticing the curve of Willow’s hips in her dark-blue jersey dress, and how Willow’s ass jiggled slightly as she rocked back and forth on her heels. Porsche nonchalantly moved her fingers between her legs and pressed.

“OK, then, how about this one?” Willow turned around with a Maxmara pink pianoforte in her hands.

Porsche bounced a little, her hand still pressed to her pussy, her face scrunched with consideration.

“That dress has sentimental value.”

“Porsche, you have to let go of some of these things. You have to make some money!”

“You know, you look drop dead gorgeous in that dress. Speaking of dresses, why don’t you let that one go?”

“What are you talking about!”

“Come here.” Porsche scooted to the corner of the bed and reached out.

“No, Porsche, we’re done with that. I’m dedicated to Mistress Sophia. No one else.”

Porsche rolled her eyes. “Dedicated to Mistress Sophia, blah blah blah. Come on, baby, a little friends-with-benefits time is called for! I’m stressed out over all this bankruptcy and sell-your-clothes talk. I need me a little lovin’.”

Willow headed for the door.

Porsche leapt up to go after her.

“Wait! Don’t go ... OK, forget the ... ”

“When you really want to get serious about this let me know.” Willow struggled into her heels and grabbed her purse. At the front door, she turned. “Look, you were the one who called and begged me for help. If you want to do this I want to be here for you. If you don’t, don’t. But know that you are going to crash at some point and it’s not going to be pretty.”

Porsche stared belligerently at Willow.

“Do you want me to send you information on bankruptcy or not?”

“Sure. Email me some links or documents or whatever.”

“Fine. I’ll email you, then I’ll leave it up to you to contact me when you’re ready to make some changes. If you aren’t ready just say so but don’t waste my time.”

“Time you could be spending in the mirror mooning over the tiny pink welts your cunt-for-a-mistress gave you?”

Willow bit her bottom lip then her top one. She turned and left without another word.

Porsche shut the door and turned the lock. She went into the bedroom and flipped through the clothes in her closet. “Keeping it. Keeping it. Keeping it. Man, I have good taste! Keeping. Keeper. Keep. Keep. Keep.”

19

PORSCHE FLOPPED DOWN ON the bed once more and opened the drawer on her nightstand. She rummaged through the stack of Lelo vibrators until she found the pink one. The only one she ever used. There were nearly a dozen Lelos in the drawer. Porsche considered this and a tiny light bulb went off in her head. There’s like a thousand dollars worth of unused vibrators in here. Well, according to fancypants Willow, I can’t afford to buy any more EVER EVER EVER again ... so these will be for the future. Good thing I have some backup. And the tiny light bulb went out just like that.

Porsche leaned back, reached up under her skirt (L’Wren Scott, thank you very much) and slowly pulled her panties down while humming Herb Alpert’s “Whipped Cream and Other Delights.” She spread her legs out straight and wide and flipped on the vibe. She continued humming as she stroked her pussy with it. Her mind was filled with Dolce and Gabbana, Christopher Kane, Chloe and Haute Hippie. Her cunt was juicing up as the vibe did its work. She pictured herself in outfits she’d seen online, straddling her manager’s face, eating out that little pimply-faced co-worker who tried to tell her how to make a better latte, pushing Willow’s face into her pussy, getting fingerfucked by Sophia. Oh, yeah ... She leaned into the vibrator, bucked her hips up, and opened her legs wider. I’m on my hands and knees. Willow is in front of me, her pussy just out of reach of my tongue. I’m jutting out my tongue trying harder and harder to reach that lovely little cunt. Almost! Meanwhile, from behind, Sophia strokes my ass with a red leather whip—gentle strokes over and over, building the anticipation. Soon those gentle strokes turn into well-aimed smacks, turning my ass pink, then red. Each stroke sends tingles up my spine and through my pussy ...

She was sopping wet now, the vibrator rubbing harder against her clit, her lips.

Willow steps forward and my tongue connects. I’m lapping those sweet lips back and forth, tasting her, my tongue darting in and out. Now, my tongue goes deep inside. Willow cries out like a little tart as I send her into a frenzy. Sophia’s still hitting my ass with her whip, now sliding the tip of the whip against my asshole, then pushing in. Now, the leather is gone and Sophia’s tongue is there probing, licking, eating my ass then reaching around to fondle my lips, pushing them together and pulling them apart, massaging them gently then more roughly ... more roughly ...

Porsche jerked the Lelo back and forth, ramming it against herself.

Willow sucking my tits, nibbling on them, as Sophia’s hands work my pussy. Willow reaches around and pulls my ass cheeks apart. Sophia pushes the whip handle in deep and ...

 Porsche sat up on the bed, thrusting the Lelo deep inside her pussy as she came like a maniac.

“OOOHHHHFUCKINGFUCKFUCKFUCKMYFUCKINGPUSSYEATMYCUNTLICKMYHAIRYASSHOLEFUCKKKKKK.”

She fell back on her pillow. “How’s that for fucking pretty girl language?”

20

SOPHIA WAS BACK IN her blue mohair chair with her iced tea, the ice cubes melting as she stared off into space.

She’d called Tommy and Tommy had laughed her ass off, repeating, “Two minutes! That bitch is harsh! Two minutes? Two minutes!!!” over and over as Sophia had relayed the story to her. Now, Sophia sat jiggling her leg a little and chewing on the inside of her cheek. She was right. She was right to do it, she thought. I respect her now. If I do this, whatever this is, with her I will have to submit. Totally submit and let her eat me alive. Well, that’d be nice ... she smiled. She sat like that for nearly an hour, wondering back and forth if she truly wanted to do it.

Finally, she rousted herself out of her pondering stupor and picked up her cell phone. She tapped the little picture of a kitten in her “Fave 5’s” and waited for Willow to answer her phone.

“Yes, Mistress Sophia?”

Breathless immediate attention to Sophia’s needs. Perfect.

“You are to arrive at my home Friday at 9 P.M. You will leave Saturday at 5 A.M.”

She could hear Willow’s intake of breath. This would be her first sleepover.

“Yes, Mistress. Will ... ” Willow shut her mouth fast. She’d been about to ask if Porsche would be there. What was she thinking, questioning her mistress like that?

“Is there something you wish to say to me?”

“No, Mistress Sophia. I await your instructions.”

“As for attire. Surprise me. And Willow, I mean it. Really take my breath away.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Willow gulped as the phone went dead. Holy Moly.

Sophia set the phone down. She really liked Willow and was looking forward to their next session. She wanted to do some new things with Willow, some really fun new things. It was time to go shopping.

Willow pressed the phone against her head and let out a deep breath. Take her breath away? Good gravy! Willow suddenly smiled. I think I know just the thing ... She pulled her Mac laptop toward her and began googling.

Porsche shoved the girl around and roughly pushed her skirt out of the way. She yanked down the cheap white underpants, tearing them in the process.

“Hey!”

“Shut up and bend over!”

“You’re crazy!” the girl said, but smiled and did as she was ordered.

Porsche pulled down her own pants and opened up her lips, exposing her clit. She began rubbing it against the girl’s ass cheeks. “Oh, yeah, baby ... yeah, yeah.” Porsche lifted herself up and down on her toes, grinding away at the girl’s tailbone, her clit electrified by the contact.

The handle on the bathroom door jiggled, then someone tapped on the door.

“Just a sec!” Porsche called out, then renewed her efforts pumping and rubbing ferociously against the girl’s cheeks, reaching around to fondle her lips and slip a finger in hard.

“Oooooohhhhffffffffffffffffffff!” She pressed her mouth against the girl’s shoulder, biting to keep from calling out as she came.

“Ow! Hey! Ow! What the ... ”

Porsche stepped back, pushing the girl against the sink. She pulled her pants up and turned to unlock the door.

“Hey, wait! What about me?” the girl demanded.

“What about you? This about you ... you’re a silly little girl who does it in the bathroom with baristas. You don’t deserve to come.” Porsche flipped the latch and whipped the door open, the girl scrambling to pull up her torn panties, the patron waiting for the bathroom getting an eyeful of puss hairs.

Porsche strode out like a gunfighter and headed back to her station.

“Where have you been? We’ve had a bunch of orders and I had to cover the register and make the drinks!”

“Boo hoo hoo. I was coming like a bitch in the bathroom.”

“Oh, my God! You can’t talk like that in front of customers or in front of me!”

“Oh, did I upset your Christian sensibilities? Fuck off, Jade.” Porsche hated these little 19-year old children Starbuck’s was hiring. She ignored the withering looks of the customers and made herself a double shot.

At 3 o’clock, the manager called Porsche to her office.

“Porsche, I heard about what happened today.”

“Jade is lying, ma’am.”

“Jade? Jade didn’t say anything. I had a call from not one, but two customers. I can’t tolerate this kind of attitude. Starbuck’s has an image to uphold and professionalism is tantamount to upholding that image.”

“Yes, of course, and I am professional. I don’t know what those customers said but I can assure you ... maybe they mixed Jade and I up ... you know, we have a similar ... ”

“Porsche, you come in late, you leave early, you call in sick a lot, and you are sloppy at your station. I have numerous instances of you being rude to our clientele. This is not news to you. We’ve had this discussion before. I’m going to have to let you go. Please gather your personal belongings and I’ll escort you out. I’m sorry.”

“What? No! You can’t be serious. I need this job. LOOK! Look, I’ll do better! Right now, I’m just going through a rough patch in my personal life. I don’t know if I told you but my mother has just been diagnosed with breast cancer and ... ”

“Your stepmother?”

“No, no, my mom. My mother mother.”

“Oh, would that be the same one that you took a week off six months ago for her funeral? Arisen from the grave has she?”

“Oh, shit! No. You ... yes, my stepmother. Look, we are dealing with BREAST CANCER here ... and uh, I have a, uh, drug problem. Can’t Starbuck’s enroll me in a program and help me, uh, get clean and ... ”

“Get your things together, Porsche, and I’ll escort you out.”

Porsche leapt up and slammed open the office door. She surged through the store with her arms outstretched, knocking over the African Specialty Coffee and Teas display as she went. “THIS PLACE IS A FILTHY HOLE PEOPLE! THERE ARE COCKROACHES IN THE BEANS! WE SIFT THEM OUT MOST OF THE TIME BUT SOMETIMES WHEN WE GET REALLY BUSY WE JUST GRIND `EM RIGHT UP! YOU’RE FUCKING DRINKING COCKROACH TURDS IN YOUR COFFEE RIGHT NOW!”

Porsche hit the sidewalk and spun to the left. She began running, stopping in a block, fully winded. As the hot tears roared down her cheeks, she faced the wall of a building, wishing she could sink into it.

21

SOPHIA DUMPED THE BAGS onto the bed and began sorting through all the treats she’d purchased for Friday night. There was a new paddle, black leather with a cushioned side and a rather nasty almost sandpaper side. Delicious! Next, a new set of tit clamps, made so that when you sucked on the little stick attachment the clamps got tighter. Some self-warming lube. And finally, a pair of red patent leather ballerina fetish shoes with a nine-inch heel in Willow’s size. It was going to be a fun, fun night.

Willow stood in front of her mirrored closet doors, turning left and right. She had on a black leather spanking skirt and a red latex peephole bra. Until now Willow had always been told—or chosen to wear—lace and silk, the sheerer the better. This, she hoped, would be the unexpected surprise the mistress might enjoy.

She stepped into her Giueseppe Zanotti suede platform ankle boots and checked her makeup in the mirror. She’d put on more eye makeup then she’d ever worn before, rimming her green eyes with black in a slightly Egyptian way a la Liz Taylor in Cleopatra, but not that far out. She’d applied red lipstick and then gloss. Her lips looked slippery, like she’d just licked a nice pussy. Her hair was done up in a French twist and skewered with chopsticks—this too was something new. Willow’s hair was always worn down when she went to see her mistress.

She nodded at the mirror in satisfaction, flung on a 1960’s vintage Chanel Chinese-inspired coat, grabbed her clutch, and headed for the door.

She arrived a few minutes early and waited nervously for her phone to show the correct time so that she could ring the bell.

Sophia waited on the other side of the door. She could see Willow through the peephole and was surprised by her updo. And she wondered what was under the coat. She wasn’t surprised that Willow waited. Willow always arrived early and always waited for the exact time to ring the bell. She was such a good girl!

Sophia was naked but for thigh-high black patent leather stiletto boots and fingerless leather gloves that ended just above her elbows. She also wore a black lace eye mask she’d found on, of all places, Etsy.com.

The clock struck 9 and the doorbell rang.

Sophia waited thirty seconds then pulled the door open. Willow stepped inside.

“Take off your coat.”

Willow unbuttoned the coat and let it drop to the floor.

Sophia had to stop herself from showing any emotion. Willow looked FUCKING HOT. Sophia had thought Willow would splurge on some La Perla or something ... she wasn’t expecting Willow to dive into fetish attire.

“I’m pleased.”

Willow flushed with happiness.

“Turn.”

Seeing the back of the paddle skirt caused a surge of juices to flow in Sophia’s cunt.

Oh, my, my, my.

“Follow.”

Sophia led Willow back into the bedroom. A black patent leather under-bust corset was laid out on the bed.

“Put this on me.”

Willow picked up the corset and wrapped it around her mistress’s waist. Sophia held the sides while Willow began to expertly lace it. She pulled it tight; she knew her mistress’s tastes when it came to corsets.

“Bring me that paddle.”

Willow went to the bed and picked up the new paddle. She handed it wordlessly to Sophia, her pussy lips plumping with anticipation.

“Bring me the stretcher bar.”

Willow went to the closet and took out the stretcher bar. She took it to Sophia and waited.

Both Sophia and Willow knew the next several steps in this part of the game but Sophia was always pleased that Willow never stepped ahead, always followed protocol.

“Take the bar and stand over by that wall with your back to me.”

Willow obeyed.

Sophia came up behind her, took the spreader bar and strapped it to one and then the other of Willow’s ankles.

“Hold on to the wall.”

Willow leaned forward slightly placing the flats of her hands against the wall and jutting her ass out.

Beautiful, she’s beautiful, Sophia thought as she brought the padded side of the paddle down onto those luscious ass cheeks peeking out from the straps of the paddling skirt. One stroke, two, three gentle ones to get Willow warmed up, then some with a little more force. Then the real treat began as Sophia brought her full strength into the swings and gave Willow a mighty fine paddling, turning the creamy white skin to hot pink. Sophia observed how Willow’s juices were sliding down the girl’s thighs and allowed herself a little smile of satisfaction. Then she turned the paddle over and began again.

Willow’s head was about to explode with joy. Her mistress had liked the outfit, had strapped her into one of her favorites, the spreader bar, and was now whaling away on her with a new paddle. How could things get better? But they did, they did, because Mistress had paused and then began again with the other side of the paddle, this side rough, so that the pain and pleasure Willow felt now blended into an indescribably delectable feeling that took her breath away. She was dangerously close to coming.

As if sensing this, Sophia stopped spanking Willow and walked away.

“Remove the spreader and come to me.”

Willow reached down, unbuckling the spreader, then went to her Mistress, her nipples bursting out of the red latex peephole bra.

Sophia reclined on the bed, pillows propping her up.

“Step closer and lean down.”

Willow stepped to her mistress and leaned over her. Sophia licked Willow’s left nipple while her hand tugged at the right one. Willow stood as still as she could as her body surged with a tidal wave force climax. She lifted up slightly on her toes and swallowed back a moan as it rippled over and over, causing her hips to jerk slightly even though she willed her body to be still.

Sophia was pleased. She released both nipples, picked up the new clamps, then applied them to Willow’s nipples. Then she took one of the little protruding sticks in her mouth and tugged gently. The clamp bit down into Willow’s titty and Willow went rigid. Sophia did the same with the other nip. Willow was on the slippery slope of too much pain, but she wanted so much to please her Mistress Sophia, she refused to ask for less punishment. After a moment, she found she could take the pain.

Sophia got on her hands and knees on the bed and thrust her ass up high, exposing her beautiful bald pussy, the lips pink, moist, swollen.

“Eat me out. And Willow, this time, don’t follow protocol. Eat me any way you wish. Make me happy.”

Willow started. She was amazed. No tick tock metronome licking? And her mistress waxed bare! Just for her? Just for her. This was really something new. Willow moved shakily to the bed and began to lick Sophia’s perfect lips and thighs and ass. Tentatively, she circled her asshole, unsure of what pressure to use, what techniques would please…then she decided to please herself, what else could she do? She’d eat out her mistress as she’d always fantasized about eating her out. Fully. Deeply. Roughly. And she hoped with all her heart that her Mistress would approve.

Her tongue dove into that asshole and she pushed as hard as she could, fucking Sophia deeply. She swirled around and out and in again. She spread Sophia’s cheeks roughly with her hands, opening her up, making her more accessible, and then she fucked in and out with her tongue like a little dagger. After several strokes, she pulled out, made her tongue flat, and lapped at the puckered asshole. Next she moved down and lapped flat-tongued against her mistress’s beautiful cunt. She rolled her tongue up and over the exposed pink lips, savoring every drop of juice. Then she pulled away and started in again with the softest of tongues, gentle licks on Sophia’s ass cheeks, then little nibbles, barely bites. Sophia raised her ass up just a fraction, and that was all Willow needed to know her mistress was enjoying herself. Willow nibbled some more, then lapped, then she reached her hand up and spread Sophia’s lips wide open. She laid her tongue in the folds and dragged it, full-length, along Sophia’s cunt. Sophia bucked against Willow’s tongue, then flipped over and pulled Willow’s head between her legs.

“Make me come hard.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Willow murmured against Sophia’s cunt lips.

Sophia felt Willow’s tongue on her lips, inside her, around her clit, licking just to the left then just to the right of her clit, driving her insane. Lick the clit, lick the clit, lick the clit! Willow continued meandering around Sophia’s clit, getting nearer with each pass, but never touching that glorious little knob. Her hands worked Sophia’s lips, tugging and massaging them, pushing them open and shut.

Sophia was being driven to distraction. She couldn’t believe it, but she didn’t think she could take much more.

Then she caved. “Now. Please your mistress, now.”

Willow obeyed—and, laying her tongue flat, lapped at Sophia’s clit once, twice, and with the third swipe felt her mistress rise up off the bed and convulse against her. Sophia jammed Willow’s head deeper into her pussy, cutting off oxygen to the girl as the waves flung her forward over and over again. Finally she fell back spent.

After a long moment, Sophia murmured, “Make me a martini.”

“Yes, Mistress!” Willow bounced off the bed and headed for the bar.

Sophia took a sip and then a swallow. “Nice.”

Willow beamed.

“Bring me the box on top of that dresser.”

Willow retrieved the box and brought it to Sophia, then she knelt down next to the bed.

“Take off your boots. These are for you.”

Willow took off her suede boots and took the box from Sophia. She opened the lid and swooned when she saw the lovely red ballerina fetish shoes.

22

WILLOW LAY FACE-UP on the bed, once more in the spreader bar, and now with her new shoes on. The shoes had a nine-inch tall heel so the wearer was constantly pitched forward. Willow had to have her mistress assist her with walking in the new shoes. She would practice later at home, the trick was to stay only on the tips of your toes, no mean feat, but Willow was determined to master the technique so she could further please Mistress Sophia.

She was strapped in, her ankles three feet apart, her spanking skirt crumpled on the floor. Her arms were tied together over her head to the bed frame. She still wore the latex bra, her nips, jutting forth, imprisoned by the clips. Mistress Sophia took the little stick of the right nipple clamp and sucked slowly, the clamp tightening further on Willow’s already sore nipple. Unable to hold back, she cried out, “Oh, Mistress! Please loosen the clamp! Oh, please! I can’t take it!” Sophia tapped the nipple gently, sending a wave of pain through Willow’s body, then she released it slightly, and then a bit more. She did the same with the other nipple, first increasing the pain, then reeling back. There was no sense in causing too much pain this early in the evening. Willow sighed with relief—and just a bit of disappointment. Her nipples throbbed, but a small part of her wished the clamps had been left on, and left on tight, maybe even tighter still. She wanted her titties to be bitten into. She pictured them black-and-blue, and her pussy pulsed with the thought.

Mistress Sophia stood at the end of the bed with a long suede whip in her hands. She tapped the whip against her palm and then began to tease it down Willow’s body from the top of her head, across her face and opened mouth, down her long white neck, slithering all over those beautiful breasts with the now angry red nipples, down her belly and finally pulled down between her legs onto her pussy. Then again. And again. Each pass made with just a hair more pressure. The tension built in Willow.

Do it already! Whip me! Flail that thing!

Another pass of the whip, still gentle, following the same path, touching her eyes, pausing at her lips—her mouth opening to taste the suede—down her neck over her breasts, her sore nipples feeling the sting as the suede slithered over them, down her belly and finally, finally against her soft cunt. Oh, sweet torture!

Willow didn’t move. She knew one twitch, one move toward the whip would mean Mistress Sophia would walk away, walk out of the room, and come back only when she felt Willow had learned her lesson. Willow toyed with the idea ... get punished by having Mistress Sophia stop or get punished by having her continue?

Sophia teased the whip across Willow a few more times, then she began to slowly whip the girl across her tits. Willow moaned with pleasure. Without thinking, she raised up, the better to feel the whip, and Mistress Sophia stopped and, just as Willow had known she would, strode out of the room.

Willow lay with her head lolling to one side then the other. Her nipples were on fire and she could see how the clamps had bitten into the tender flesh. Her pussy quivered. Having Mistress leave her like this was almost as exciting as having her here.

Sophia read three pages of The Corpse on the Dike by Janwillem van de Wetering. She’d read all his books before, but every few years went back and reread them. She loved his characters and hadn’t found anyone to replace him. After three pages, she got up, replaced the lace mask, and walked back into the bedroom.

Willow’s pussy was drenched.

Sophia undid the spreader bar and tied Willow’s feet together with a silk tie.

“Turn the lower half of your body to the side but keep your back against the bed, I want access to those tits.”

Willow did as commanded. Now Sophia could play with Willow’s ass and cunt as she wished. First, Willow received a light beating with the whip—twenty well placed strokes that pinked up Willow’s alabaster skin beautifully. Then Sophia turned the whip around and ran the handle into the V of Willow’s thighs.

“Press your thighs together.”

The handle of the whip corkscrewed in and out from between Willow’s thighs, making her burn with pleasure. Sophia pushed a little harder and a little deeper with each stroke, separating the pussy lips with each pass, brushing against Willow’s clit roughly.

Sophia went to her cabinet and pulled out a lambskin hood. She placed it over Willow’s head. Willow felt Mistress Sophia’s hands on her body, rubbing roughly along the entire length of her, slapping her breasts around, pulling her ass cheeks apart, a hand mashing at her pussy, fingers tugging the lips down hard then releasing, her clit being thumped. She continued to press her thighs together as ordered so Sophia’s hand had to push in aggressively to gain admission. Willow was over the moon with joy.

Sophia untied her feet and ordered Willow to lie on her back and extend her legs straight up and out, admiring the look of the red ballerina shoes at the end of Willow’s slender ankles. She pushed her hand into Willow’s crotch, her pointer and middle fingers scissoring Willow’s swollen lips, pushing them away from her beautiful clit. Then she bent down and gently bit Willow’s clit once, twice ... Willow exploded like fireworks.

Sophia left her there—Willow’s legs still extended in the air—and finished the first chapter of The Corpse on the Dike.

She returned, pulled the hood off Willow, and told her she could bring her legs down. Then she took off the ballerina shoes and had Willow sit up so that she could take the latex bra off. She took off her leather gloves and slapped them against Willow’s breasts, had the girl lie over her knees and spanked her with the gloves, alternately caressing and biting her ass in between smacks. Then she pushed the girl off her lap onto the floor and told her to kneel there. Sophia took off her lace mask and heels. She stood up and ordered Willow to crawl to her. When Willow was directly in front of her, Sophia turned around and waited. Willow stood and began to untie Sophia’s corset. Freed from the corset, Sophia walked back over to the bed and looked down at it. Wet spots where Willow had juiced the sheets were everywhere.

“Strip the bed and wash the sheets. Bring me a martini in the guest room and then leave me undisturbed. Take a shower, you stink of your own pussy.”

Sophia went to the guest room and pulled back the duvet. She flopped down on her back and soon Willow appeared wordlessly with the martini. Sophia sipped, her left hand lazily caressing her own nipples and pussy. It had been a long time since Sophia had gotten a Brazilian, but she’d wanted to surprise Willow. She stroked, enjoying the strange feeling of bald skin. I might do this more often. She tweaked her nipples lightly and mashed her lips around with the palm of her hand. The heel of her palm found her clit and rubbed vigorously. She felt her body responding, she rubbed harder and began moaning and grunting. Ohohohoooohhhhh. Her hips jerked against the palm of her hand, her clit connecting over and over until she felt herself reaching the pinnacle and rolling—no crashing—down the other side. That’s right ... that’s riiiiiggghhtttt, that is sooooo righhhhhhhuuh. She used the sheet to dab up the martini that had sloshed out of the glass, took a sip, then poured the remaining martini over her breasts and pussy. Then she fell asleep.

Willow gritted her teeth as the water hit her nipples. Poor things! You really took a beating tonight, huh? Willow touched one nip and winced. How was she going to wear a bra? How was she going to wear anything? Then she turned her body so the spray would hit her ass. She looked over her shoulder at it: pink and a few mottled welts from the sandpapery side of the paddle. Nice! She knew she’d be rubbing those welts over the next few days while she played with herself reliving tonight’s session. Would she be able to obey Mistress Sophia’s commandment not to come?

Not bloody likely.

After the shower, not knowing what else to do, Willow knelt down next to the bed and waited for the sheets to come out of the dryer.

Sophia opened her eyes and felt her sticky skin. Oh, the martini. How dramatic! She got up and went into the bedroom. Willow was on her knees leaning against the edge of the bed, fast asleep. The bed was unmade, but the toys had been cleaned and put away.

Sophia left her there and went to take a shower. Wrapped in a light blue silk bathrobe, she passed Willow once more and chuckled.

“Willow?”

Willow sprang up like a jack-in-the-box. “Wha ... uh ... YES ... Yes, Mistress Sophia!”

“You were to leave at 5 A.M. It’s 6:15 ... ”

“Mistress! I ... I’m so ashamed!”

“No, I wasn’t clear with my final orders last night. You’re not to blame, but don’t worry, I’ll punish you anyway.”

Sophia went over to the cabinet and took out a black box Willow had never seen before. Sophia placed it on the bed and opened it up. She pulled out a metal and leather contraption. Sophia dropped it onto the bed.

“Are you mine?”

“Yes, Mistress! Always!”

“Always? Really?”

Willow felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

“You fucked Porsche.”

Not a question, a statement. How had she known?

“Yes, Mistress, I ... had a moment of weakness and I ... ”

“That’s out of your system now? You won’t be having any moments of weakness again—and that includes diddling yourself after our sessions?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Put it on.” Sophia motioned toward the contraption on the bed.

Willow picked the thing up and held it out. Then it became clear what it was.

Oh, my God. She got me a chastity belt. Cool!

It was a beautiful device, a sleek black leather base with a thin stainless steel overlay, simple in design—three wings—two to fit around the waist and the third placed between the legs, this wing to be brought up to clamp onto the other two, and then the whole thing locked into position. Highly effective.

Willow struggled with the belt, having trouble keeping the straps around her waist, wiggling her ass to get the device up high enough, tugging it into place, snug against her pussy and ass crack. Sophia took over, placing her hands gently against the leather and metal, smoothing it into place, pulling the straps around Willow’s waist and clamping the waist flaps into place. She placed her fingers on Willow’s thighs and tried to force her fingers up under the chastity belt. Finding that she could, she repositioned the waist flaps, and fastened it more tightly. Sophia checked it again and, unable to penetrate the black leather, she took a small lock out of the box, locked the belt, and threw the key onto her dresser.

Guess that answers my question about masturbation.

“Go now. Be back at midnight so I can supervise your bath.”

“Mistress ... may I speak?”

“No.”

Willow gathered her clothes together, wrapping the ballerina shoes in the center of the stack, and slipped into her coat and boots. She could feel the weight of the belt around her and wondered how she’d get any work done at the law firm when she’d be in a constant state of arousal.

Sophia shut the door behind her and locked it. She decided to treat herself to breakfast out and grabbed the phone. She pressed the Eagle on her Fave 5’s.

23

“HOWDY STRANGER!”

“Edna! How are you?”

“Couldn’t be better. Business is booming. Both businesses! Remember those gals from Jersey? They’ve turned all of their friends on to me. We do phone chats, they send money to my PayPal account, and I let them talk to dead people. It is such a win-win! Oh, and, drum roll, please. I met someone!”

“Who?”

“One of my Jersey girls.”

“No way.”

“Way. And get this, she likes it with me, untranced Edna, but she super likes it with in-a-trance Madame Unjeu!”

Both women burst into giggles.

Anyway, Soph, that’s what’s up with me. And you?”

“I had a simply divine session with Willow, who, in just a few hours, will be walking around the court room in a chastity belt!”

“Excellent!”

“She’s really coming along nicely. I tried another girl, but she didn’t work out too well. She responded to being a sub, but I think she’s more of a switch hitter.”

“Oh, a domi sub? Multi-talented type, hmmm?”

Edna was no stranger to BDSM. In her younger days, she’d attended quite a few private parties. Multi-talented herself, she’d S one night, and M the next. Now, she tended more toward a vanilla sex life, but if the right person came along, who knew?

“She thinks she is. She’s got a long way to go before she’s a proper sub or a proper domme though. Plus, she started fucking Willow.”

“WHAT?”

“Yep, sure did. Willow ended it, it’s fine.” Sophia’s voice quavered slightly. “You know these young girls, not as focused as we were at that age. Willow had to stray a bit to know where her real path lies. She found it.”

“Good for her.”

“So, how busy are you? I was thinking a little spa trip and then lunch and maybe some shopping.”

“Oh, I’d love to doll, but I am up to my eyeballs in clients right now ... in both endeavors. I really have to cut back on the Madame Unjeu gig. Either that or retire from my real job and become a full time woo woo queen. Can I take a rain check? Get with you in a week or so?”

“No problem. Give me a call when you resurface.”

“OK, Soph. Take care.”

Sophia hung up and pursed her lips. Well, poop. She’d really wanted to spend the day with Edna, getting pampered and chatting the day away. Tommy wasn’t good for this kind of thing and, other than Edna and Tommy, Sophia didn’t have any really close friends.

Sophia picked up the phone and called the spa. She’d just have to go by herself.

She got out of the cab in front of the Mandarin Oriental. She’d booked the half-day treatment and was looking forward to zoning out for a few hours while her body got massaged and her face got facialed.

The massage therapist was a chatty little trollop and after five minutes Sophia had to fire her and have her send in another therapist. The second one was more experienced and kept her mouth shut so Sophia could relax.

The facial was great. She looked and felt ten years younger.

Next, it was time for lunch and maybe a little shopping spree. The shopping presented a dilemma. She already had a drawerful of underwear she hadn’t worn yet, clothing hanging in her closets with the tags still dangling from them, and the same for purses, and a slew of shoes she’d only worn once or twice. Her kitchen was outfitted with all the usual gadgets and a few unusual ones. Her living room and dining room were tasteful with a nice mix of contemporary and vintage. Her pantry was stuffed with goodies. There was really nothing she needed, and to her dismay, she discovered there was nothing she wanted either. She was satiated. How boring.

She decided to lunch at Monsieur Sushi. It was quick and tasty, and, at this time of day, it would be quiet. She could eat in peace. She hailed a cab and gave the address for the nearest Monsieur Sushi. The driver deposited her at the front door and she tipped him well. She was wearing her Stuart Weitzman five-inch, Time, patent leather pumps. Not the kind of thing she wanted to walk a few city blocks in.

She threw open the door and strode in. There at the counter, decked out in a steel-blue sheath, was Mrs. Pea.

Mrs. Pea looked at Sophia, then lifted a morsel of sashimi to her mouth, opened wide, and laid the raw fish on her tongue. Her eyes never left Sophia’s. Sophia couldn’t move. She stood just inside the door and she could not move. The door opened and a young couple pushed past her and took a small table near the back. Mrs. Pea raised another piece of fish to her mouth and repeated her previous gesture.

Sophia croaked out, “May I come in?” Unbelievable! Did she really just request permission to enter the restaurant? Fuck.

Then she saw that Mrs. Pea wasn’t alone. She was with a young Asian man, who now murmured something to Mrs. Pea in Japanese. Mrs. Pea responded and then rose.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay, Sophia, dear. I’m in the middle of my meal and I really don’t want to have you here staring at me with your mouth hanging open. Go to another Monsieur Sushi—heaven knows there are enough of them.” And with that, Mrs. Pea turned back to her friend, conversing in what appeared to be fluent Japanese.

Sophia turned and left the restaurant. She scurried away like a scolded child, finding herself three blocks from the restaurant before the pain in her calves reminded her of her Weitzman’s.

Oh, fuck! She turned and hailed a taxi and gave the address for another Monsieur Sushi, just as Mrs. Pea had ordered.

She sat at a small table and ordered the same sashimi she had seen Mrs. Pea eating. She placed it on her tongue in that same way, feeling the fish as it lay flat on her tongue, with all of her taste buds feeling it too. Then she chewed and swallowed and did it again.

Hmmmm. That look. She smiled. She has that cold smoldery look down pat! I was as helpless as the fish on that sushi chef’s cutting board. She continued to dissect the incident. Pondering each nuance, each word, each look, each gesture. Which ones had turned her on and how she might be able to use some of what she’d seen on her own subs. Oh, great, now I’m old Mrs. Pea’s sub! She smiled again. There’s got to be a way for me to play this game and win. Just like with Willow, even though Willow is my sub, sometimes she controls the play, whether she knows it or not. How can I be subservient to Mrs. Pea and still be in control? Is such a thing possible?

She ordered more sushi and a bottle of cold unfiltered sake.

 24

THREE NIGHTS LATER (and for the third night in a row) at the stroke of midnight, the doorbell rang. Mistress Sophia led Willow by the hand to the bathroom and stood her there in the center of the room. She took a small key from a sterling silver chain around her neck and placed it on the counter.

“Take off your skirt.”

Willow reached around and unbuttoned and then unzipped her Givenchy Punto Milano pencil skirt and let it slowly slink down her legs and bunch up at her feet.

“Step forward and kick that thing out of the way.”

Willow did as she was told.

“Now the shoes and thigh-highs.”

Willow balanced on one foot—something she’d had to practice given the height of most of her shoes—and removed first one, then the other Pierre Hardy Patchwork Bootie. She slid them over to where she had kicked her skirt. Then she began to peel back her thigh-highs.

“You’re wasting my precious time.”

Willow moved faster, rolling down the left, then the right thigh-high, and tossing them over to the pile with her shoes and skirt.

“Come to me.”

Willow stood in front of Mistress Sophia. Their eyes met and held. Without looking down, Mistress Sophia took the key and inserted it in the chastity belt lock. At the sound of the click, Willow couldn’t help but let out a little gasp. The belt was such a turn-on she’d come several times just from wearing it today without even having to touch herself. She’d had a hell of a time focusing on her trial cases, focusing on conversations, just plain focusing. The belt was a constant stimulant, driving her to distraction—lovely, luscious, wet distraction.

Sophia took the belt and dropped it on a hand towel next to the sink.

“Wash it.”

Willow got to work, using some delicious plumeria liquid soap to wash her chastity belt. She then rinsed it thoroughly and dried it, first with a fresh hand towel and then with a blow dryer.

“Now, yourself. Quickly. I don’t have all night to waste watching you,” Sophia said, taking in every inch of Willow, feeling that glow in the pit of her stomach, wanting to touch her, but knowing that, at this stage, it would not be the right move to make.

Willow let the hottest water she could stand soak a washcloth. She wrung it out quickly, squirted a few drops of the plumeria soap on it, and placed it between her legs, enjoying the feel of the plushy hot cloth against her lips and clit. She stroked herself with it, afraid she was about to come, and wanting to. But without permission to do so, it would be awful to do that now, wonderful and awful and a terrible offense to her mistress. She thought of dying children in India as she moved the cloth back and forth between her legs. Cleft palate children, underarm stains, dogs in small cages…anything to keep her in check. She rinsed out the cloth and took a new one from the stack. Mistress insisted the ass and the cunt receive separate cloths. The new cloth was applied to her thighs and then her ass and finally up and down in the crack. Willow had learned to breathe deeply, imagine the death of Bambi in the forest, to keep from moaning in ecstasy.

Mistress Sophia had to hide her smile from her sub. She enjoyed these nightly sessions almost as much as Willow did. “Are you going to be all night?”

“I’m done, Mistress.”

“Come here.”

Willow returned to stand before her mistress and be locked back into the chastity belt. She felt so lucky. So happy. Her mistress cared so deeply for her. What more could a girl ask for? Well, maybe to be turned over her mistress’s knee…but not much more. Not much more.

25

PORSCHE PUSHED HER FACE into the side of the building, tears mingling with the grime of the bricks. She sobbed, choked, took a deep breath and pulled herself together, wondered if she should walk back to Starbucks and beg for her job back, realized that wasn’t going to happen and that she’d just lost her job, another job, and began to sob again. She felt a hand on her shoulder as a voice said, “Are you all right? Do you need me to call the police or ... someone?”

Porsche shrugged off the hand roughly. “Go away!”

“Oh. Well, then. So, you’re OK?”

“Do I fucking look OK?” Porsche wailed.

“Oh, well, no. No. That’s why I stopped I mean ... well ... can I help in some way?”

“Oh, great! Another fucking goodie two shoes may I help you may I help you? Fuck.”

Porsche turned ready to spew venom and looked into the soft blue eyes of a nun.

“You fuuuu ... ” The breath went out of her.

“Kleenex?” asked the nun.

“Yeah, OK.”

“Rough day?”

“To put it mildly.”

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

They entered the coffee shop and sat in a booth. The nun took Porsche’s hand and looked into her eyes.

“God meant for me to find you. You may not believe it and that’s fine. But God wanted us to meet. He led me down that street to find you. He placed you there at the very moment I would be passing. There’s a reason He did it. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m sure it’s divine intervention. I’m Sister Alice.”

Porsche felt trapped inside an episode of Twin Peaks.

“Jane. Doe,” she said.

“I see. Well, fine, Jane. It’s good to meet you.”

Porsche withdrew her hand from under the nun’s and fiddled with a packet of sugar. Sister Alice sat in stillness and silence. The coffee arrived. Sister Alice picked up her mug and blew on the surface of her coffee then took a noisy sip. Porsche tore the top off a creamer and poured it into her mug, followed by four more. Then she took 3 sugar packets and added those as well. She picked up her mug and took a swallow.

Fuck, if I’ll blow on my coffee. Pussy nun.

When her cup was half empty, Porsche stood. “Thanks for the coffee, Sister.” She headed for the door.

“Jane!”

Porsche turned around.

Sister Alice rushed over to Porsche.

“ I don’t really have a chance to talk to anyone much about anything other than ... spiritual things. I’d love to have a conversation about politics or who’s winning on Survivor or fashion or ... ”

“Fashion? You really want to talk about fashion?”

“Did you see what Dior put out on the runway last week? Dreadful! He should be ashamed!”

“Oh, my God, it was like ... CRAP!”

They returned to the booth.

An hour and three more cups of coffee later, both women were giggling and blasting or worshipping every designer they could think of.

“Jane, this has been great! I mean, I love my life as a nun, but sometimes, well, sometimes it’s ...

“Porsche.”

“What?”

“My name is Porsche. Not Jane.”

“Oh. OK, Porsche. Can we meet again?”

 “Sure.”

“Here’s the phone number at the convent. Sister Alice withdrew a business card from her purse and handed it to Porsche.

“Uh, I hate to ask, but could you lend me $10 for taxi fare?

“Oh ... sure.” Sister Alice dug in her purse once more, pulling out a tenner.

Porsche took the ten spot and stood up.

Back at her apartment Porsche leaned back in her bed and stretched her naked body out. She fired up the joint that she’d bought with the nun’s $10 and sucked in hard. In her other hand was the Lelo. She flipped the switch, took another drag, and pictured herself with Sister Alice in a very compromising position.

26

SOPHIA PLAYED THE MESSAGE for the eighteenth time.

“It’s Mrs. Pea, dear. I will be at Happy Betty’s at 5:30 on Thursday.”

Sophia wouldn’t be late this time. It was time to see how this game would be played.

She’d like to wallow all day in the details of the upcoming meeting, but she had other things to tend to. Willow was still in the chastity belt and it had now been several days. It was time to have her over and remove the belt for good. She put in a quick call and set up a session for that evening. She was looking forward to it. Hearing from Mrs. Pea had sexed her up and she needed a good release.

She’d decided to fuck Willow with the double dildo.

She went into the bedroom and stripped the bed, replacing her 800-thread count cotton with black rubber sheets. She pulled out the industrial bottle of lube and filled a four-ounce bottle to the brim. She rummaged around in the dildo drawer for the blue Feeldoe Slim and her favorite harness. She would slip the four-inch end inside and fuck Willow with the seven-inch cock-replica end. She rarely used the bullet vibe feature. She preferred to draw things out and too much stimulation shortened the play. She grabbed some nice fluffy hand towels out of the cupboard and placed them on the nightstand. Her underwear drawer offered several enticing options. She chose black leather pasties. Since she’d be wearing a harness tonight there’d be no need for panties. Black thigh-high fetish boots with five-inch heels rounded out the look. She laid it all out on the bed.

She went into the kitchen and poured a bowl of Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes. It was one of her many guilty pleasures, like the sweatpants and sweatshirt and her Sudoku addiction. Dommes, like vampires, had a certain aura to portray and Frosted Flakes really didn’t fit into that. She opened the fridge and looked around. Damn! Out of regular and almond milk. She grabbed the half-and-half and shook the container gently, then poured some over her flakes. She sat at the dining table, reading the morning paper and munching away.

Willow presented her closing arguments, won the case, and threw her paperwork into her briefcase.

She left for her place directly from the courthouse. After showering and applying powder under her breasts and arms, she spritzed herself with a little Chanel Number 5, wiggled into a mesh long-sleeved scoop neck top and a black Versace pencil skirt, topping it off with a pair of Manolos. No bra, no underwear—just the chastity belt.

She wore the same Chinese style coat that she wore last time and headed for Mistress Sophia’s.

Sophia greeted her at the door, and as before had her drop her coat to reveal the pleasures beneath it. She sent Willow to the bedroom with instructions while she retreated to the living room for a drink and to read a bit. After forty-five minutes or so, Sophia strolled back to the bedroom.

Willow straddled a straight-back chair facing backward so her back was fully exposed. She’d taken off the top and skirt. Sophia pulled a mini flogger out of a drawer and began to stroke Willow softly with it. She shivered with each pass of the leather strands on her back. The strokes became stronger and Willow had to remember to breathe deeply. She so enjoyed that special place between pleasure and pain, that zone where the sting and the bite caused a wince and a sigh as the endorphins kicked in and electric pulses of pleasure coursed from her neck to her tailbone, radiating from the slice of the leather out and downward to her pussy. She could feel her lips swelling already, feel the wetness building as Sophia used the whip.

Willow’s skin was pinking up beautifully, her ass rising slightly—nearly imperceptibly—off the chair as each blow landed.

Sophia put the flogger away.

“Stand.”

Willow stood and waited.

Sophia walked to the bed and lay down. She opened her fist to reveal the key to the chastity belt.

“I’m debating whether to take you out of that thing or not.”

Willow stood and waited.

“Come to me.”

Willow approached the bed and stood next to it.

Sophia reached up and began massaging Willow’s breasts. Then she grabbed them hard and pulled Willow to her.

“Do not disobey me,” she whispered into Willow’s ear.

Willow didn’t move a muscle. She waited. She murmured, “Yes, Mistress.” And she waited.

“You displease me tonight!” Sophia spit out. She unlocked the chastity belt and threw it on the bed. “Go kneel over there.”

Willow went and knelt, not knowing what she had or hadn’t done to make her mistress angry.

Sophia pondered the moment. She had thought she would enjoy seeing Willow again in her chastity belt, enjoy whipping that silky vulnerable back, enjoy playing roughly with the girl’s tits, biting her cunt lips, fucking her with the double cock. But now she was bored—unmoved and unexcited. Abruptly, she got off the bed and went back out to the living room. She opened her Mac and pulled up a storefront for bondage and lingerie and began perusing the photos. She reached down to her pussy and fondled her lips and her clit. Pictures of cupless bras always seemed to bring a rush to Sophia and tonight was no exception. She scanned page after page of gorgeous women in cupless bras feeling a slight tingling in her pussy. She shut down the Mac and went back to the bedroom. She picked up the harness and fastened it quickly around her, then she reached for the Feeldoe Slim and lubed up the smaller end. She inserted it into the harness and deeply into her pussy, then approached the kneeling girl.

“On the bed, now. On your hands and knees.”

Willow obeyed, spreading her legs wide and lifting her ass into the air.

Sophia lubed up the seven-inch end and moved it between Willow’s thighs. Through years of practice and vaginal calisthenics, she kept the four-inch end clutched inside her pussy. She pushed the dildo up against Willow’s lips, moved it back and forth slightly, then side to side. Then she tucked the tip up inside Willow and moved her hips very very slowly so the tip entered and exited Willow’s hungry pussy. Over and over, Sophia let the tip slide in and out. She watched as the girl’s lips wrapped around the cock tip, clung to it, and then released. Willow’s lips grew slicker and more full as the slow fuck continued. Sophia knew Willow wanted the whole cock in her now, knew she was starved for a hard fuck, so she continued to use only the tip, back and forth, rocking gently, almost absentmindedly.

Oh, fucking A ... jam it in me, come on ... Oh, Sweet Jesus…

Sophia continued her slow mini fuck for five more minutes, then, when she herself was nearly loopy with desire (the other end of the dildo had been doing a steady slow dance deep inside her own pussy), she finally slid the dildo in deeper. Then the strokes were deep and long and deep and long until Sophia started fucking faster and shallower. She stoked Willow’s pussy with the dildo—hard, hard, hard, soft, soft, soft, hard, soft, hard-hard, soft. Willow, not knowing what was coming next, wanted it all, wanted to be fucked hard and deep, wanted to be fucked shallow and superfast, wanted to be fucked with just the tip. Opening up to it, her pussy wider than Sophia had ever seen it before, Willow’s cunt looked—how could Sophia put it?—greedy, no insatiable. Sophia pulled the dildo out and thrust four fingers in.

“Fuck my hand.”

Willow didn’t need to hear more. Her hips bucked wildly, sucking the fingers up inside her cunt and pounding hard against Sophia’s hand. Sophia placed her other hand on the girl’s ass and said, “Wait.”

Willow stopped.

Sophia pulled out her fingers, added some lube, then began again—her entire hand disappearing inside the girl. Willow rocked back and forth, not as wildly but just as deeply, pulling Sophia up inside her, feeling Mistress Sophia’s fist as it subtly moved and twisted. She was in heaven.

“Ooooohhhhhh ... ooooooohhhhhh ... oooohhhhh, Mistress! Oooooohhhhh, yes, yes, please!”

Sophia thought about pulling out her hand, punishing Willow for speaking, but now she was turned on too. She brought her other hand around to stroke Willow’s clit.

Willow’s head exploded with an electric charge as her pussy took the punishment of Mistress Sophia’s fist. Her entire body strummed with tension. Sophia continued to prod Willow’s clit, her expert hand knowing precisely how and where to apply pressure. Willow raised up, up, up to meet the hand, the sensations magnifying until she reached her peak, her entire body shaking, shoving, quaking as the rapture cascaded in her brain. A loud, almost painful, wail escaped her as she crashed forward against the bed, and the orgasm threw her up and out into the abyss.

Sophia grabbed the seven-inch dildo and began pushing and pulling it, the four-inch end massaging the walls of her cunt, grinding into her. She jerked it rapidly and felt the raw pressure of the climax rising in her head, in her stomach, in her pussy. She reached around, shoved her finger into her own asshole, and began fucking herself—now, near the pinnacle of release, now the fingers working faster, more erratically as she lost control, pumping herself with both hands as the climax took over and sent her flying up to the heavens.

Sophia had Willow draw a bath for her, then sent her home.

27

“PORSCHE! PORSCHE! ... JANE DOE!”

Porsche scurried along the sidewalk, ignoring the calls of Sister Alice.

Goddamn nun! God damn it! Shut up!

Sister Alice continued to follow Porsche for another block, calling her name and waving wildly until she finally gave up and turned around and headed back the way she’d come.

Porsche turned a corner and leaned against the wall.

Finally!

She turned and walked another block to her destination: Barney’s.

I’m only going to check out the SALE racks ...

Edna reclined in her bed, plump white pillows behind her, her knees up, her hands clasped behind her head, biting her lips, trying to hide how tickled she was.

Lorraine—her Jersey girl— peered at Madame Unjeu’s pussy. She nervously massaged Madame’s thighs while working up the courage to put her tongue somewhere.

“Oh, baby,” Lorraine croaked out weakly. “You turn me on.”

Edna sat up a bit, grabbed hold of Lorraine’s ears, and pulled her head down. “Just treat me like a piece of gum—I mean, an ice cream cone—and you’ll do fine.”

Lorraine’s mouth and nose brushed against Madame’s sizable bush and she started to freak, backing away.

“Don’t fear the bush, baby. Don’t fear it. Give me a little taste.”

Lorraine steeled herself and dove in quickly before she could stop herself. Her tongue darted out and gave a little press to Madame’s formidable lips. She felt the tingle in her own pussy immediately. She licked again. And again.

Edna moaned her approval.

Porsche hummed merrily as she tried on a few pairs of shoes, choosing a pair of silver Alexander Wangs and Roberto del Carlo t-strap sandals. Neither on sale.

The sale stuff is all picked over. What can I do? And I have enough pants and skirts. I don’t even need to LOOK at those. But blouses ... well, I really could use a few more blouses.

She couldn’t resist the Balenciaga German Shepherd sweater.

$925 Fuck ... well, that’s half the price of the Prabal Gurung feather top so if I put that back ...

She added a Rick Owens cowl neck pullover to her stack and headed for the cash register.

“I’m sorry, but your card has been declined. Would you like to put this on another card?”

“What? No. That can’t be right. I just paid that card. Oh, they must not have gotten my check yet, I’m sure that’s it. Here’s another card.”

She smiled tightly as she handed the second credit card to the clerk, starting to sweat a little, praying this one would go through.

“I’m sorry this one has been decl ... ”

“Yeah, yeah ... OK. Here, I’ll just write a check, OK?”

“You might want to just go to the ATM and pay in cash.”

“What are you saying? My check is no good? Look, I paid both those credit cards on the same day. They probably just haven’t received them yet. Wasn’t Monday a holiday or something? I shop here ALL THE TIME ... ”

“Please, lower your voice. A check will be fine.”

Porsche wrote the check out with a flourish and pushed it across the counter to the clerk. She took her bags and flounced out of the store. Once outside, she sat at a bus stop and waited for her heart to quit beating so fast and so hard.

Oh, fuck! That is going to bounce. Oh, fuck me. Barney’s will bar me from ever coming back. What am I going to do?

She reached into the bag and extracted the Balenciaga German Shepherd sweater.

What the fuck was I thinking? I’m more of a Pekingese kind of girl.

She shoved the sweater back into the bag.

She didn’t have enough for cab fare, and ended up walking back to her apartment. She threw the Barney’s bags on the couch and made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She poured herself a beer. Then, she took the shoes and the sweater and the top and laid them out over the back of the couch. She stood back and admired them.

I love beautiful expensive things. Is that a sin? Is that a crime? What’s wrong with that? I deserve them too. Well, I have no money. Really. Like, no money, now. Tsk.

She showered and put on black sheer thigh-highs, the silver Wangs and the Rick Owens pullover, no bra, a charming little black silk G-string with pink trim, and her Zero and Maria Lola skirt. Then she looked in the mirror.

Fucking A. I look HOT.

She put on blood-red lip gloss, some blusher and mascara, and grabbed her Lanvin clutch. She locked the door behind her and headed out to find her future.

She took a taxi to the Carlyle. She’d been there a few times with Willow and knew that it was the current hot spot for the wealthy lesbian crowd. Her prey.

She stiffed the taxi driver by giving him a one-dollar bill she’d pasted the corner of a twenty to. She rolled it up and passed it to him, then leapt out of the taxi and ran into the hotel and onto an elevator. She heard the driver yelling as the doors slid closed, “Hey! Hey, you bitch!”

Porsche rode to the eighth floor, then waited ten minutes before taking the elevator back down to the bar. She walked in, swaying her hips from side to side. Her nipples protruded from the pullover. Overkill, she knew, but she didn’t have time to spare. She had to find herself a sugar mama tonight. Rent was due in a week. She walked past an older woman sitting alone and took the stool two down from her. She sighed heavily and waited for the waiter to notice her. When he did, he was already carrying a drink to her. Something with a little umbrella in it.

“A gift from the woman at the end of the bar,” the bartender said as he set the drink in front of her.

She licked her lips, looking down at the drink, then picked it up and, raising it, turned toward the end of the bar, turned toward her benefactor and stared into the steely gray eyes of a well-dressed elderly woman.

She mouthed “thank you” and sipped the drink. She started to get off the stool and head for the woman but the gray eyes narrowed and the woman put up a hand in a “halt” gesture. Porsche scooted back onto her stool.

Mrs. Pea ordered another drink for Porsche and watched her from the end of the bar. She looked her over, noting the new top. Porsche had missed one of the price tags and it still dangled from her underarm.

Finally, Mrs. Pea walked over to Porsche and stood behind her with her hands on Porsche’s shoulders. “I want you to do something for me, dear. I want you to follow me to the bathroom and I’ll take off my shoes. I want you to lick my feet. I’ll give you five hundred dollars. Finish your drink. I’ll be in the bathroom waiting.”

Porsche slugged back the rest of her drink and headed to the bathroom. As she entered, Mrs. Pea said, “Dear, I want you to close your eyes. I don’t want you to look at me. I just want your tongue on my soles. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. But before I do anything I want to see the money.”

Mrs. Pea took a stack of bills from her purse and placed them on the tank of one of the toilets. Porsche knelt down, closed her eyes, took off Mrs. Pea’s shoe, and began to gently lick the bottom of her left foot. She’d done a lot worse for less money before.

“That’s fine, dear. Now the other one.”

Porsche slipped the left shoe back on the woman’s foot and removed the right one. She resumed licking.

“Do you want me to lick harder or suck your toes or something?”

“No, dear, just the soles. Just like you did on the other foot. Three more licks and that will be all.”

Porsche licked once, twice, and a third time when the foot was abruptly pulled away.

Porsche fumbled backward slightly, disappointed. At first she had only thought of the money, but as soon as she started licking she’d felt her nipples harden and was looking forward to whatever else the old lady had in mind.

“Stay where you are, dear, and keep your eyes closed for awhile. Stay in the bathroom for five minutes before going back to the bar.”

“OK. Hey, I can do other things besides lick feet. I’m very talented.”

“I’m sure you are, dear. But I’m finished with you.”

Mrs. Pea left the bathroom and walked out of the bar.

Porsche counted three minutes, then got up, retrieved the money from the back of the toilet, and left the bathroom, scanning the room for the elegant older woman. Then she sat back down at the bar and waited. Things had started out well enough, and the night was young. Maybe she could meet other crazy old lesbians with weird fetishes. Fine by her, as long as she cleared enough for rent and maybe a new pair of sunglasses.

A young lesbian couple came in and sat a few stools down from Porsche. They traded smiles for a few minutes, then Porsche got up and walked over to them.

“Hi, I’m Alice!”

“Hi, Alice! I’m Veronica and this is Betty,” the tall dark-haired lesbian said, motioning toward the skinny blonde next to her.

“Right!”

“No, really! We know—it’s funny, isn’t it? But it’s true. Don’t make us show you our driver’s licenses!”

“All right, I won’t ... and I can’t show you mine, unfortunately. My wallet’s just been stolen!”

“Oh, my God, you’re kidding!”

“No! This woman was in the bathroom at the same time I was, and I was washing my hands and applying a little gloss, the next thing I know, I look down and my bag’s lying on the counter open and my wallet is gone! She was obviously a professional because it happened so fast!”

“You have to call the police!”

“Already did. They said I can come in and fill out a report but the likelihood of my ever finding it again is ... well, a snowball’s chance in hell, as they say. I don’t even have money for a cab, or even bus fare, home!”

“Oh, my God. Well, don’t worry. We’ll take you home. We have our car here. But, first, we’re buying you a drink!”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t!” Porsche settled her ass on the bar stool next to Betty.

Three drinks later, things were heating up. All three women had been touching each other’s arms and faces and the stray hand had landed on a thigh or two. Betty and Veronica began kissing and, when Porsche pouted, Veronica turned to her and drew her tongue over Porsche’s lips. She kissed her deeply. Porsche turned to Betty and the blonde opened her mouth slightly and waited for Porsche’s tongue to enter.

“We should go to our place,” Betty murmured against Porsche’s neck.

“Yeah, let’s.”

The three women got up and stumbled on their four- and five-inch heels toward the door. Veronica produced the car keys and dropped them on the sidewalk. Betty retrieved the keys.

“You can’t drive, too drunk,” Betty slurred. “I’ll drive.”

Porsche climbed into the back and Betty and Veronica climbed into the front seats of the blue Audi sports sedan and Betty roared away from the curb and into traffic.

Luckily, the drive wasn’t far and Betty only stalled out twice, both times at red lights.

“Fucking car,” Betty moaned as she ground the gears.

Porsche took a little pass-out nap and woke when the car gently bumped the front of the parking space at Betty and Veronica’s.

The three women wrapped their arms around each other and headed up the stairs of the condo.

Once inside, they headed for the living room and Veronica poured wine from the bar. They took sips and kissed each other on the mouth, the neck, the arms. Wherever their mouths landed, they kissed and licked and sucked. Veronica took off her skirt to reveal high-waisted black underwear with a keyhole opening at the ass and pussy. She pulled her top off over her head and her boobs flopped free, each nipple pierced and a winged dragon tattoo flying from one breast to the other, its tail circling one nipple, its mouth the other.

Porsche stood and stepped out of her skirt. She pushed Veronica back against the cushions of the couch and began to suck on Veronica’s nips. She licked the entire length of the dragon and licked the nipples some more, then began massaging Veronica’s breast and gently chewing the nipples, sliding the piercing bars around in her mouth, pushing them back and forth with her tongue. Veronica moaned with pleasure and reached for Porsche’s breasts. She tweaked the nipples through the fabric and refused to let go.

Betty watched from the other end of the couch, her skirt pushed up, her panties pulled down, and her hand busy massaging her own wet cunt. Porsche got up and pulled her German Shepherd pullover off and then went over to Betty and pushed her legs open. She licked Betty’s knees and thighs in tight little circles. Betty writhed around and slid down toward Porsche’s mouth. Porsche connected with the blonde downy hairs of Betty’s pussy, licking and biting and tugging gently with her teeth. She slid the lips apart with her mouth, tonguing the folds and lapping the juices welling there.

Veronica came up to Porsche from behind and pulled her backward. She reached around Porsche, took her titties in her hands, and began massaging. Betty sat up to lick wantonly at Porsche’s nipples and Veronica’s hands as they pinched Porsche’s nips. Betty’s tongue flicked back and forth as Veronica squeezed Porsche’s nips between her first and second finger, her hands roughly massaging Porsche’s boobs. Betty’s hand wandered down to Porsche’s G-string and roughly pushed it out of the way. She slid two fingers into Porsche’s sopping wet pussy and thrust in and out. Porsche returned the favor, finding Betty’s cunt and shoving fingers into her while her thumb found Betty’s clit and thumped it back and forth.

Veronica moved around Porsche and pushed Betty on to her side to finger her ass as Porsche fingered her cunt. The two women alternated thrusts then, as they increased their speed, both women fucked hard and fast as Betty bucked on the couch.

“Oh, Jesus, I’m coming, Veronica! Oh, I love you, baby! Oh, Alice, Alice, baby, yes, I love you too, Alice!”

I love your money, thought Porsche.

Betty lay back, spent, and Veronica leaned in and kissed her deeply. She turned and grabbed Porsche around the waist, lifted her onto the other end of the couch, and pushed her back. She spread Porsche’s legs, and began licking and sucking her pussy, sucking the lips hard. Porsche didn’t like it, and tried to stop it, but Veronica pushed her hands away and continued to suck and bite and then Porsche felt the wave approaching, felt a wall of tension, felt herself being lifted up, her hips raising up, up, up, Veronica lifting her ass up for her at the same time.

“Yes, bite me. Oh, yes. Oh, fucking bite and suck. Yeah. Veronica, suck the shit out of me, baby! Fucking succccckkkkkkk.”

When the tsunami hit Porsche between the eyes, all thought left her. She tumbled through a white abyss, forgetting even to breathe.

Betty nudged Veronica forward onto Porsche’s belly and began to fuck her girlfriend’s ass with gusto, her finger sliding in and out of her tight little asshole, Veronica’s ass pumping back and forth. Porsche reached down and began pulling Veronica’s nipples, mashing them back against her breasts, squeezing, pulling, rubbing, twisting those beautiful pink tips, flicking her thumb against them as Veronica moaned and murmured both their names. Veronica’s body heaved and pushed until the waves spilled over her and, left her shaking and jerking, lying against Porsche’s body.

Porsche woke up at 3 A.M. with Veronica still passed out on top of her. She had to pee. She tried to gently push the woman off, but Veronica was dead weight. Porsche finally had to shove her off and drop down to the floor to get out from under her. She tiptoed down the hallway looking for a bathroom. After she’d peed and returned to the living room, she found Betty sitting up on the floor against the couch, her eyelids fluttering prettily. She wiped her mouth, hauled herself up, and gasped, “Water!”

She and Porsche giggled. Putting their arms around each other, they went into the kitchen. They both drank two glasses of water and poured one for Veronica and took it to her. Veronica woke and drank and the three women sat grinning at each other.

“How fun was that?” Betty exclaimed.

“That. That was really, really fun,” Porsche said.

“Alice, do you live around here? Can we see you again?”

“Sure. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Porsche showered and borrowed some jeans and a T-shirt from Betty.

“I can’t believe you had your wallet stolen last night, Al. Can I call you “Al” or do you prefer Alice?”

“No, lots of people call me Al, it’s fine.” Porsche paused for effect, and then began to cry.

“Al! What’s wrong? Oh, no, are you feeling bad about last night?” Betty’s brow knit.

Porsche shook her head, but continued to cry.

“Alice, what is it? You can tell us,” Veronica said.

“Oh, it’s just been a hard week, well, a hard month really. I ... my mom got breast cancer and my workplace—I’m a paralegal at a law firm—wouldn’t give me time off to spend with her! I mean, once I used up my vacation, they just wanted me to put in my usual sixty to seventy hours a week and fuck my mom. Well, I couldn’t do that, could I?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Fucking lawyers!”

“I know! Right? So I quit! What else could I do? And I stayed at the hospital until she went to hospice, and then I was home with her until ... until ... the end.” Porsche pushed the tears out, willing them to cascade down her cheeks.

“Oh, baby!”

“You did what you had to do, Al. I’m so sorry about your mother.”

“Group hug!”

Both women stood and took Porsche into their arms.

“I have no money. I was living off my savings, and my Mother’s estate is all fucked up, and then, of course, the stock market has been so fucked up, all my investments tanked. I had to foreclose on my co-op and rent a shitty little apartment. I don’t care!”

Porsche weighed her options and decided wailing would be good. “I HAD TO DO IT FOR MY MOM!!!”

“Oh, honey, don’t you worry. We’re here now.”

“We can help you out until you get on your feet again. I have a trust fund, and Betty’s daddy owns a quarter of Brooklyn! Don’t you worry, Alice. We’re here for you.”

Both women squeezed Porsche tightly against them.

Porsche opened the door to her apartment and walked in. She flipped on the light but nothing happened.

They turned off my fucking power? I only missed three payments! What the…

She went into her bedroom and stripped off the borrowed jeans and T. She lay on her bed with her hands behind her head and tried to figure out how quickly she could move in with Betty and Veronica.

28

SOPHIA STOOD OUTSIDE HAPPY BETTY’S with her phone in her hand, watching the time. As the display switched from 5:29 to 5:30, she pulled open the door and walked in. She was in her black Newman dress by The Row, a clever combination of lambskin and stretch cotton, somewhat reminiscent of a scuba diving suit—the perfect cocktail dress for a dominatrix. This she’d paired with her Pierre Hardy sandals, the glitter covered circles and cutouts just right on her newly pedicured feet. Her Doctor bag, also by The Row, was the perfect authoritarian accessory too. No bra and—get this, Mrs. Pea!—no panties. She was taking a risk, but she felt ready. She was making herself wet with the thought of telling Mrs. Pea she had no panties to drop into her big old bag. What would happen?

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. She scanned the tables. No Mrs. Pea. She took a seat at the bar and ordered a vodka martini with an olive from Chance.

She sipped and felt the ice-cold vodka slide down her throat and warm her stomach.

Just relax. You practically own this bar. You didn’t get your reputation for nothing. You are a force to be reckoned with. Enjoy it. You’ve been waiting for this night for a long long time.

“You want another one, Mistress Sophia?” Was it her imagination or was Chance smirking?

“Yes, I would.”

She sipped the second martini. Her legs were crossed and she bounced her foot back and forth a bit. She thought about hanging Willow from a hook in her ceiling next time they had a session, maybe using a ball gag and a butt plug.

“Hello, dear.”

The voice marauded her from behind, crashing into her thoughts. She wasn’t ready.

“Oh!”

“Did I startle you, dear?”

“Yes, a bit. How are you, Mrs. Pea?”

“Why, dear, I’m fine. Just the other night I had one of your subs. She’s named after a car ... Mercedes or ... well, it certainly wasn’t Gremlin ... ”

“Porsche?”

“Yes! That was it, Porsche. I had that girl licking my feet the other night. Poor thing. Seems the girl will do anything for money. Pity. No standards.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“That would be lovely.” Mrs. Pea turned to Chance. “Bourbon on the rocks.”

The two women sat sipping their drinks in silence. When her drink was half gone, Mrs. Pea rose and said, “I’m going to the ladies room. Do come with me, won’t you? I promise I won’t ask you to lick my feet.”

Mrs. Pea walked through the bar to the hallway where the ladies room was located. Sophia followed, three paces behind.

The women entered the restroom and Mrs. Pea turned and studied Sophia.

“You call yourself Mistress, but aren’t you really just a juicy little sub longing for someone to teach you a lesson? I want you to take off your panties now and put them in my bag.”

Sophia reached down, took the hem of her dress in her hands, and began to lift it up. She slid it slowly over her thighs, then up higher, her bald pussy lips emerging from the tip of the cloth, then higher still, up over her flat belly, her belly button.

A woman entered the restroom, gasped at the sight of a woman with a black dress pulled up to her waist, her firm ass on display, her legs slightly opened, standing in front of an elegant elderly woman who stood with her purse open, both hands on the bag. She stifled a little squeal and ran from the restroom. This was too weird for a schoolteacher from Minnesota.

Sophia had not moved a muscle when the woman entered. She stood there, her glistening pussy presented to Mrs. Pea. She’d watched as Mrs. Pea’s eyes had widened, the only indication that she was disturbed by the interruption.

Sophia let go of the dress. It remained rumpled up around her waist. She opened her own bag and removed a short whip. In one fluid motion she stepped over to Mrs. Pea, turned her around, and roughly pushed up her skirt.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” roared Mrs. Pea.

“Disciplining you. What else? It’s what I do.”

Sophia held Mrs. Pea to the wall with her shoulder as she pushed the woman’s skirt up higher. She pulled Mrs. Pea’s panties down, ripping them a little, and then, with a yank, ripping them right off the poor, startled woman.

“You can’t do this to ME!”

“Quiet! I don’t give you permission to speak,” Sophia growled.

“This is an outrage!”

Sophia brought the whip down against the amazingly perky ass of Mrs. Pea. Once, twice, three times. Not gently. Not warm-up strokes, but strong, solid blows, the ass turning red and small welts appearing.

Sophia turned and grabbed her bag, shoving the whip in and snapping it shut. She walked out of the restroom, then quickly brought her dress back down as she strode down the hall and into the main part of the bar. She sat down and polished off her martini. She threw $50 on the bar and blew Chance a kiss. Then she walked out, hailed a taxi, and went home.

When Sophia left the ladies room at Happy Betty’s, Mrs. Pea had stood watching her leave in stunned silence. Finally, she’d stood and pushed her skirt down. She’d picked up her ripped black panties and thrown them in the garbage can.

I’m surprised she didn’t recognize those ... she gave them to me ...

Now, in the privacy of her own bathroom, Mrs. Pea removed the gray wig and wig cap and scratched her head. She popped out the gray contact lenses, looked at herself in the mirror, and winked. Finally, she sponged off the theater-quality makeup that had added the necessary years for her to become Mrs. Pea. She stepped out of the conservative Chanel suit, hung it in the guest bedroom, and placed the Cydwoq shoes there too. The wig went on its stand on the shelf and so did the big bag. She grabbed a vintage silk kimono and knotted it firmly around her slim waist.

She danced her way into the kitchen and poured herself another shot of bourbon. She slugged it back, then went to her bedroom and surveyed her ass in the mirrored closet doors.

Like three swats are going to faze me… she chuckled.

Sophia could barely get in the door before wrestling her shoes off and running down the hall to her bedroom. She threw herself on her bed and yanked the dress up once again. She shoved her fingers into herself with one hand and with the other rubbed her clit, and within seconds, she was engulfed in orgasmic bliss, her body coming up off the bed, her back arching, her breathing stopped. She fell back, nearly passed out, then started giggling uncontrollably.

29

SOPHIA SLEPT IN. She rolled to her left and right, stretching and groaning.

This is when I wished I lived with someone. What I wouldn’t do for someone to stroll in with an Americano and a toasted bagel with cream cheese.

She groaned again and got out of bed. She turned on the espresso machine. She pulled the refrigerator door open and peered inside.

“Nothing ... ”

She lifted the half-and-half carton and shook it gently.

“Just enough ... ” She let out a huge sigh.

“I should let my housekeeper do the grocery shopping.”

She made an Americano and settled into her blue mohair chair. Then she sighed and got up again, her mind suddenly racing with so many new ideas for Willow, and maybe some other subs, that she had to go get a notepad to record them.

She thought about strapping Willow into various devices. She pondered new ways of punishing her, new locations, trying again with another sub, not Porsche, someone dedicated. She even thought about bringing in another dominatrix.

I wonder if Mrs. Pea ... she thought briefly.

She got up once again and grabbed her Mac. She cruised several websites for fetish gear and found herself fairly bored with the offerings. I have most of this crap. I want something new ... innovative. She continued to surf for over an hour, lost in handcuffs and butt plugs.

Porsche scurried down the sidewalk as fast as she could in her heels. She held tightly to the tiny piece of paper with the bar’s address scrawled on it. She yanked open the door and peered into the dimness. Loud greetings erupted across the room. Betty and Veronica were emitting high-pitched grating squeals, like pigs fighting over the trough.

“Kisses, kisses!” Porsche spouted breezily as she leaned in and pecked both girls on the lips. “Will someone please buy me a drinky drink? I am parched!”

Betty motioned for the bartender and called for three martinis. “We’ve missed you!” she said. “What’ve you been up to, sweets?”

Veronica looked Porsche up and down, resting her eyes on Porsche’s tits, her cleavage spilling out of a Jean Paul Gaultier T-shirt, a subtle camel toe in her just slightly too tight 7 For All Mankind jeans. She leaned in and nuzzled Porsche’s neck.

Porsche continued to yak away about the cost of her mother’s funeral, the stalled will. “I don’t understand all that legal mumbo jumbo, something about exparte and some other Latin stuff.”

Veronica pulled her face away from Porsche’s neck. “I thought you used to work at a law firm?”

“Yeah, I did. And I still can’t follow what’s going on with my mom’s estate. It’s that fucked up.” Porsche slugged down her martini.

Veronica and Betty exchanged a quick smile then Veronica returned to kissing and licking Porsche’s neck as Betty looked on.

One martini followed another, and soon the three were in a booth, groping and making loud obnoxious comments about the bar, other patrons, and their own friends.

“Martinis!” Porsche yelled. She held her glass up in the air and then turned it upside down, the last few drops spilling over the table.

“BARRRRRRBOY! DIDJA HEAR THAT? WE ARE DRY!” Betty bellowed.

Veronica had her head under the table and under Betty’s skirt.

The bartender approached empty handed. “I’m cutting you ladies off,” he said holding up his hands. “It’s time you headed home, or down the street.”

“NO! NO! NO! We LIKE it HERE!” Betty beat the table for emphasis.

“I can call you a cab. I can call you a friend. But you are going to have to leave.”

“You fucking A-hole.” Porsche grabbed for his hand. “Let us stay, A-hole. Come on.”

“Or, I can call the police.”

Veronica’s head banged the table as she came up. “We’re going. We’re going. We’re OUT OF HERE!” She grabbed Betty’s hand and Betty tried to grab Porsche’s but missed and sent three empty martini glasses flying across the table and onto the floor. The girls erupted in a fit of spit and giggles as they staggered toward the door.

The bartender looked at the table. The usual for Betty and Veronica ... mayhem and a wad of cash. He scooped up the bills and went to find the busboy to clean up the mess.

Porsche was sandwiched between Betty and Veronica as they staggered down the street, looking for another bar. They paused long enough to snort a little coke in an alley. After being rejected by three different bouncers, they fell into a cab and headed for home. Outside their door, Betty dropped her key three times, so finally Veronica took over and managed to get the key into the lock. Betty flew down the hall to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet, laughing and choking.

Veronica pushed Porsche up against the wall and wriggled her tongue into her mouth. Porsche responded by biting the invading tongue gently and then circling it with her own. Veronica pushed her body up against Porsche’s, mashing her into the wall. Porsche grabbed at Veronica’s shirt, pulling it up out of her leather pants, reaching up under it, and rubbing, then scratching, Veronica’s naked back. Veronica pulled away so Porsche could slide her hands up to massage her titties, taking each nipple between her thumb and first finger as she squeezed and flicked. Veronica put her hand between Porsche’s legs and pushed the denim roughly against her pussy lips.

“Ow, that hurts!” Porsche pouted. “Do it again, Ronnie.”

Veronica moved her hand in and up, then began to rub back and forth. She grabbed the back of Porsche’s neck and flung her around into the room, toward the couch.

“Get on my couch, now. I’m going to fuck you.”

“No, baby, I’m going to fuck you.”

Both of them stood, swaying, next to the couch. Veronica grabbed Porsche’s jeans, got them unbuttoned, then yanked them down Porsche’s thighs.

Betty stumbled into the room, a bottle of sparkling water in her left hand and a nine-inch maraschino cherry-red dildo in her right. She threw them both onto the couch, then went over to an end table, opened the drawer, and took out a mirror and a vial of coke. She poured a liberal line, then another, and another. Veronica and Porsche paused to take a toot.

Veronica pulled Porsche up mid-snort and slapped her ass—the jeans were still around her knees. Veronica yanked Porsche’s tiny pink G-string out of the way, bent over, and licked her asshole. Porsche bent over, struggling to get the jeans the rest of the way off and to get her ass higher in the air for Veronica.

Betty held on to the dildo and stumbled back into the kitchen. She returned with a pair of kitchen scissors and started to cut the jeans off Porsche.

“Wait! Wait, God DAMN it ... these are fucking 7 For All Mankind, Betty!”

“I’ll fucking buy you a half-dozen pairs of jeans. Shut up and let me get these off you. Oh, did I just nip you?”

Porsche held still while Betty cut her out of the jeans, then Veronica went back to licking and sucking.

Betty found a bottle of lube and slathered some on the dildo, her hand slipping up and down—schlurp schlurp schlurp. Then she poured some more lube on her hand.

“Ronnie, get out of my way. I’m gonna fuck this little prissy pot.”

Veronica gave Porsche a few more licks, shoving her tongue in and out of Porsche’s asshole, then slumped over onto the couch. Betty lurched forward and slapped her gelled-up hand against Porsche’s ass-crack. She lifted the red dildo and nestled it against the little red asterisk of Porsche’s hole. Veronica pushed herself up and grabbed Porsche’s butt cheeks pulling them apart. Betty began to gently twist and push the dildo into Porsche’s asshole.

Betty proceeded to apply pressure. Veronica kept pulling Porsche’s ass cheeks apart.

Veronica bent forward and kissed Porsche passionately.

Betty lost her balance and slipped forward slightly, plunging the dildo hard into Porsche’s asshole.

“Oh, FUCK!” Porsche tried to pull away, but Veronica held her and started laughing.

“So sorry,” Betty giggled. “My bad.”

Porsche looked back at Betty and stuck her tongue out like a brat. “Be careful, you cuntlicker.”

Betty pulled the dildo almost all the way out, but the tip stayed inside Porsche and, before Porsche could respond, she teased it back in.

Porsche felt the dildo deep inside her, felt herself opening to it. She struggled, not to get away from the dildo, but to move toward it. To move with it. To fuck it back.

“Holy shit! She’s bucking like a bronco!” Betty blurted.

“That’s our girl! That’s our girl. You’re going to be our little fuck machine, yeah? Oh, yeah, Alice. Fuck it, baby.” Veronica moved to the arm of the couch near Porsche’s head, and perched on it. She pulled Porsche’s head up and thrust her pussy into it.

30

PORSCHE FELT HERSELF BEING suffocated by Veronica’s cunt as she rocked her hips back and forth to take the fucking Betty dealt out. She pulled back and took a big gulp of air, then plunged herself forward to lick, nibble, and suck at Veronica’s cunt lips, loving the way they hung down and their nut-brown color.

Betty continued fucking Porsche, watching the dildo’s shaft disappear into her new lover’s lovely asshole then re-emerge, only to disappear again as Betty pushed forward and Porsche bucked backward, wanting to take it all in, wanting to swallow that dildo up her ass as her tongue licked and flicked at Veronica’s clit.

Veronica massaged her own tits, kneading and pulling on her nipples. She reached for Porsche’s head and pushed it back and forth as she felt her orgasm coming on. She returned to her nips, pinching them and vibrating them with her hands until she began to call out, “Ooooh. Oooooh. FUCKING FUCK YEAH.” Guttural sounds from deep in her belly lifted her up and sent her crashing against the insides of her own skull.

Betty thrust harder as Veronica came, and, as hoped, she felt Porsche contract and expand against the dildo as she, too, began to come. Betty could barely pull the dildo back out, it was clenched so firmly in Porsche’s ass. Porsche erupted, swearing, flinging her arms out, arching her back, quivering and quaking until she collapsed forward, knocking Veronica over the arm of the couch and onto the floor.

Betty tried to gently remove the dildo, but was finally forced to yank it out, afraid it would get stuck. Porsche moaned and muttered obscenities, but remained face forward in the couch cushions.

Betty reached down to her own pussy, but then sprinted down the hall for another round of talking to the toilet.

An hour later, Porsche was surprised to see a large gray bat flapping about the room. The bat had long fangs and pink translucent wings. All of a sudden, it landed on her! In a panic, she jerked upright and felt the bat fly against her chest. She stifled a scream and opened her eyes to find that her own hand had flopped against her. She’d been lying on top of it and it had fallen asleep. The bat in her dream was her own half-dead hand. Porsche shook it and felt the needles and pins of feeling return. She wiped her eyes with her good hand and stood up unsteadily. She walked to the bathroom to pee and found Betty slumped around the toilet. She grabbed a bath sheet and clumsily covered the girl up. Then she went to the master bath to pee, then returned to the kitchen to grab a fresh bottle of Pellegrino water. She drank nearly a quart, before stopping, and opening a loaf of French bread. She pulled off a chunk and forced it down herself. She knew if she didn’t eat something to absorb some of the alcohol, she’d be in a world of hurt tomorrow. She pulled off another hunk of bread and ate it. Then she found an apple and ate that too. She returned to the living room, and looked around, no Veronica. She padded down the hallway back to the master bedroom and found her lying on the floor on the far side of the bed. She checked to make sure she was breathing, then pulled the duvet off the bed and over her new friend. She went back to the bathroom, checked to make sure Betty was breathing too, then she went to the guest room, flopped on the bed, and fell asleep.

Late the next morning, Porsche, Veronica, and Betty sat around the kitchen table arguing about where the car might be. They played Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine who would have to take the keys and go downtown on a treasure car hunt. Betty lost the game and left to find the Audi before it got towed or vandalized—if it hadn’t been already.

Porsche took the opportunity, alone with Veronica, to plant the “I’ll move in here” seed. She arranged her face in a concerned, near tears way and waited.

“Man, we need more Talking Rain and ... ” Veronica turned and stopped talking when she saw Porsche’s face. “What’s the matter, booboo kitty?”

“I ... it’s ... I’m getting kicked out of my apartment!” Porsche said and began to sob.

“What the hell happened?”

“Well, it’s a sublet, and it’s a friend of a friend’s place since I lost my own condo. Well, anyway, the friend’s friend is coming back ... into the country ... he was in Tanzania, or somewhere, and the assignment ended early, or something ... it’s ... I can’t remember. They’re being vague with me, vague about everything, except for the fact that I am out on my ass by end of the week. Where am I going to find a studio, or a loft or something, in a week? And, something I can afford after all my financial setbacks? I’m fucked.”

“Well, don’t worry about it now. Betty and I will help you find something. You go on, now, and we’ll call you later. Something will come up, don’t worry.”

Porsche had been hoping for something a little more along the lines of “Move in here!” She got up and gathered her stuff together, throwing the demolished jeans into the garbage and rooting around in Betty’s closet for something to wear. She found a pair of Roberto Cavalli bling jeans and pulled them on. She decided to find another shirt to wear too, since she’d sweated up the Gaultier T, and chose a black Givenchy Brooch Tank with the tags still on it.

She also found a twenty-dollar bill lying on the floor of the closet and stuffed it into the pocket of the borrowed jeans just as Veronica came into the room.

“I’m going to go beat the pavement and look for a place! I’m not going to let this get me down!” Porsche said gaily.

“Good for you, Boo!”

Porsche left and hailed a cab. She went across town near her apartment, found a cafe, and settled in with an espresso to people-watch out the window.

Veronica grabbed her cell as soon as Porsche was gone.

“Baby!”

“Hey, Sweetcheeks, how would you feel about a new roommate-fuckbuddy?”

“OK, um…I love the idea!”

“She’s getting kicked out the end of this week. Shall we empty out the guest room closet and invite Porsche to join us?”

“Definitely! Honey, do they make a three-way dildo?”

Veronica called Porsche and invited her to come live with them. Porsche smiled like the Cheshire cat as she hung up the phone. She ordered another espresso to celebrate her good fortune.

“Well, I think this is going to take more than one trip,” Veronica stated as she shoved another Versace bag into the trunk of the Audi.

The three women had met to gather up Porsche’s stuff.

“Alice, you have more clothes than Veronica and I do combined! And good taste, too.”

“Thank you,” Porsche said and curtsied. “How about if I stay with the rest of the bags while you take this load back to the apartment? Does that work?”

“That’ll work. We’ll see you in a few!”

Porsche sat on the front steps of her building and pondered how she was going to explain the Porsche/Alice thing should the need arise.

Why’d I have to go use a fake name, anyway? Well, I know why. The original plan was a one-nighter where I’d make some money and never see them again. Who knew it would become, like, a three-way couple thing?

Veronica returned and she and Porsche finished loading up the car’s trunk and back seat with the rest of the luggage, then headed for the apartment.

Betty was at the door waiting, and Veronica gently pushed Porsche forward into the apartment. Hanging across the archway between the kitchen and the living room was a handmade WELCOME HOME, ALICE!  banner.

“Oooh, that’s so sweet! Thank you both. I don’t know what I’d have done if it weren’t for you.”

“Group hug!”

The three women hugged each other, then Veronica went into the kitchen. A moment later, Porsche and Betty heard the sound of a champagne cork hitting the ceiling.

“Celebrate good times, come on!” Veronica sang as she came into the room with two glasses and handed them off to Betty and Porsche. Then she scooted back into the kitchen and returned with her own glass and the bottle.

“Al, we are thrilled to have you here. It’s going to be so much fun!” Betty trilled.

They drank champagne and yakked for a while about how the dishwasher worked, but not with hot water—only with cold. The girls had learned to live with that. If you barfed, you had to clean it up within eight hours or it started to smell bad. You couldn’t bring someone over without prior approval. Coffee, sparkling water, and booze always had to be in the house, so if you used the last of any of these you were responsible for getting to the store to re-supply. There was a credit card on the counter for this purpose.

“Now, Al, honey, don’t worry about not having any money. We have money. We just want you to be happy, and we want to enjoy you and have you enjoy us. Take your time finding another job. We just love having you here,” Betty said.

“And we love sucking those titties and fucking you anywhere and everywhere,” Veronica added, taking a sip of her champagne and licking her lips. “You were amazing the other night.”

“I loved seeing that red dildo sliding in and out of your ass, I must say,” Betty offered.

“Fuck me silly, and I hope I have the opportunity to fuck the two of you that way too.”

Betty leaned in and kissed Porsche deeply. “Oh, baby, yes. I want that too.”

Veronica grinned. “Her ass isn’t as willing as yours is though. We’ve been using a little bitty butt plug and she still bitches that it hurts!”

“Well, we’ll have to work on that, won’t we?” Porsche declared, and all three girls giggled and swigged champagne until the bottle was gone. Then Betty ran to the kitchen for another bottle and Porsche realized the day would be spent drinking and fucking.

The life of the idle rich ... I think I can get used to this!

As the second bottle of champagne was killed, Betty pulled her top up over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her pert little nipples stood up in the air-conditioned room. Veronica followed suit, pulling off her tank top, then unsnapping her bra to free her 38C’s. Her dragon tattoo seemed to writhe around her pierced nips. Porsche peeled her Thakoon cinched dress up over her head and tossed it across the room. She looked hot as hell in her Kiki de Montparnasse Cage bra and undies.

Veronica leaned over and unsnapped the bra pulling it away from Porsche’s perfect tits and throwing it in the direction the dress had sailed. “Beautiful,” she murmured as she cupped Porsche’s breasts in her hands. “Most beautiful I’ve seen.”

Betty gave a little pout at that and Veronica leaned over and kissed her deeply as she continued to cup Porsche’s breasts, giving them a little squeeze.

Betty kissed Veronica back and scooted closer to her. “Lick my titties, baby.”

Veronica turned to Betty and began sucking and licking her tits, biting gently on the soft round mounds, licking gently on the nipples, then flicking her tongue over them more roughly, getting excited by the way they protruded, standing in a grand ovation. Veronica pulled Betty to her. Betty pushed up her skirt and straddled Veronica’s lap, shoving her breasts into Veronica’s waiting mouth, moving, from side to side, so that Veronica’s lips and tongue and teeth could sample both lovely tits equally.

Porsche sat on the couch watching. Her pussy swelled and her panties felt wet. She came up behind Betty, reached around, and took hold of her tits. She offered them up to Veronica, her hands gripping Betty’s boobs with Betty’s nipples each peeping out between her first and second finger of each hand. Veronica licked and sucked the offered nipples and the fingers that surrounded them.

Porsche ground herself against Betty’s backside. Veronica reached between Betty’s legs to the crotch of Porsche’s panties, her fingers searching for an entry point to Porsche’s cunt. Porsche pulled back slightly, letting go of Betty’s tits long enough to yank down and step out of her panties. Porsche rubbed herself up against Betty again, cupping her breasts once more, kneading the nipples. An ambulance, its siren blaring, screamed by outside. None of the girls heard it.

Veronica’s hand went to Betty first, rubbing the little panties until they were sopping; then Veronica meandered back to Porsche’s crotch, her hand pushing apart the lips. Porsche pushed her exposed clit against Betty’s bare flesh. She rocked up and down, side to side, and the friction on her clit was delicious. Veronica returned her attentions to Betty, reaching into her panties, fondling the soft mound. She continued to lick Betty’s nipples as her fingers found their way into her pussy and she fucked her girlfriend slowly with her finger as her thumb came up and bumped against her clit.

Betty moaned. Veronica increased the pressure on her clit and slid her finger in and out a little faster. Betty twisted her head around, her mouth seeking Porsche’s. “Kiss me, kiss me,” she begged.

Porsche’s tongue entered Betty’s open mouth filling it, their lips coming together, both girls pushing hard into the other. Veronica’s mouth continued to work Betty’s titties mashing the nipples into her breasts with her hard tongue, flicking them, then biting gently, her fingers working their magic on her cunt. Betty came hard. She pitched forward against Veronica, then back against Porsche. Porsche worked her hips frantically, pushing her clit into Betty’s ass crack as she felt herself coming too. They fell shattered onto the couch.

Veronica grabbed the champagne bottle and poured the last few drops down her throat, she turned to the lump of ladies on the couch and said, “My turn.”

 31

SOPHIA MET EDNA FOR LUNCH. She wore her Narciso Rodriguez Colorblock dress, the geometric white rectangle at the front and back intersected by a thick black line all the way around—so retro, so Fellini. Her feet were encased in vintage black-and-white suede cocktail heels. Underneath the dress, she wore yellow La Perla. She’d gotten a Jas MB black Amy shoulder bag—its cute little triangular shape a nice compliment to the lines of the dress —and hadn’t had the chance to use it, until today. She looked marvelous and felt even better.

“Well, don’t you look delicious!”

“Thanks, Edna. I love this dress and these shoes and this bag! I’m just in love with myself today.”

“Good for you! Is there an occasion or just an ‘I-feel-pretty-oh-so-pretty’ day?”

“No, nothing special. I just feel ... like myself again.”

“Well, if that doesn’t call for an early martini nothing does.” Edna waved the waiter over.

They chitchatted over their martinis and a calamari appetizer before Edna said, “I have big news.”

“You wait until we’re nearly done with the appetizer to divulge this?”

“Well, it is good news, but you aren’t going to like it.”

“Spill.”

“I’m moving to the West Coast!”

“No!”

“Yes ... ”

“You can’t!”

“I have to ... my job, the legit one. I’ve been headhunted and hired by a huge management-consulting firm for an outrageous amount of money and stock options and perks out the ass! I couldn’t say no.”

“No!”

“But, obviously you can. Honey, listen, it’s a six hour flight. We’ll still see each other. And it’s not forever. I need to do this for a few years, sock away the dough so I can retire while I still have a little juice in the caboose.”

“Oh, fuckity fuck.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“When do you go?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh, now, really!”

“Well, I’ve known for two weeks ... I just didn’t have the chance to tell you until now.” She patted Sophia’s hand. “So, it’s two weeks from now and I’ve already rented my place, which is a relief. I have to buy a car when I get there. Yikes! Can you imagine driving? Or even more horrifically, me driving? I think I’ll have to take a refresher course. I haven’t been behind a wheel in years!

“So, it’s LA then, not San Francisco?”

“Yep. LA. You’ll have to come and visit. Hey, it’s where that shoe company you once asked me about, Cydwoq? It’s where they’re headquartered. We can go and meet the genius behind the shoes. That’d be a kick huh?”

“Oh, I’m kind of over those, back into Louboutins, Pierre Hardys, and Zanottis. Something with a higher heel ... that’s more my style ... ”

“OK, well, I’m sure we can find some shopping and restaurants and what have you to do out there. You will come visit, right?”

“Of course, I will!”

“Whew. That’s the only drawback to this thing. I hate to leave you behind. I’ll miss this ... ” Edna waved her hand toward the cocktail glasses and empty appetizer plate strewn with shrimp tails.

“We’ll Skype,” Sophia said firmly.

“Skype? I didn’t know you knew how to Skype!”

“Well, I don’t. And haven’t needed to ... until now. I’ll figure it out. I can’t go without seeing your face.”

“All right, all right, let’s not get all teary and weak. Let’s order steak and fuck the salads.”

Sophia sat in her blue mohair chair with her hands clasped on her lap, her thumbs swirling around each other, a pout on her face.

Poor me. Poor, poor me.

The phone rang and Sophia checked to see the caller. When she saw Tommy’s picture on her screen, she quickly answered.

“Heeyyy!”

“Hey, yourself, girl. Whatcha up to tonight? Time for a few drinks?”

“Most definitely. I need a little cheering up. Edna just dropped a bombshell on me. She’s moving to LA!”

“Oh, boy.” Tommy let out a huge sigh.

“Yeah, I know. Lousy friend, huh? Oh, I’m happy for her but really sad for myself. Anyway, what time and where?”

“Let’s say 8 P.M. at that new place in the Village ... Larry’s or Harry’s?”

“Perry’s. It’s supposed to be very good.”

“OK, cool. Perry’s at 8.”

Sophia slipped into a pair of gray, skinny corduroys and an M. Patmos blouse, the sequins so thick it reminded her of chainmail. She chose a pair of black Louboutins, even though her feet would have preferred to stay in her bunny slippers.

At 8 P.M. she was seated at the bar at Perry’s. At 8:20 her cell rang.

“I’m late. Sorry. Not like me, right? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“No problem. I’ll see you when you get here.”

At 8:35 Tommy touched Sophia’s shoulder as she took the stool next to hers.

“Sorry, again. I got caught up in someone else’s break up. Grrr. I hate that shit.”

“What happened? Anyone I know?”

“No, these girls are part of an adventure club I belong to ... the one chick told her girlfriend she wanted to break up because she was in love with me.”

“Oh, my!”

“Soph, I barely know the girl. I’ve maybe seen them a half dozen times and I think I may have had a conversation about hiking boots with the girl ... that’s it.”

“So, she fell in love with you over a deep discussion of tread and insoles?”

“Maybe she thought those were euphemisms.” Tommy laughed ruefully as she flagged down the bartender, a young Asian woman with tattoo sleeves.

“Can I get a mojito, please, and ... What are you drinking, Soph?”

“I’m good.”

 “One mojito,” the girl said. “Melon and basil? Cucumber and cilantro? Or pineapple and sage?”

“A mojito, girl! A mojito, like they used to make them!”

Tommy turned to Sophia and without preamble stated: “I’m heading off for Laos next week. There’s an eco adventure company there that I want to check out and, well, I haven’t been to Laos yet, so I gotta go, right? See it all? Do it all?”

“Et tu, Brutus?”

“Melodramatic Mistress Sophia is such a pussy.”

“Tell me more about Laos.”

They spent the next hour chatting about Laos and the eco adventure company that was starting there.

“All right, then,” Tommy sighed. “I’m going to leave you to your own devices, and see you in about three months.”

The two women hugged and kissed. They hugged and kissed again, this time a little longer. “You know,” Tommy said. “I’ve been thinking about you, and, well…is it possible that whole Mrs. Pea thing was about something other than boredom?”

“Such as?”

“Such as the only thing scarier to you than becoming somebody’s sub.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know…maybe…love.”

“Love!” Sophia snorted, and the two of them laughed.

Tommy left, blowing Sophia a kiss at the door.

Sophia asked the barmaid for a club soda, studying the young woman’s tattooed arms and noting a small stud in her nose, barely visible, in the dim light of the bar.

When the soda came, and she tried to pay, the girl said, “It’s on the house—all your drinks, always. You come here and I’m working, you drink for free. I know who you are, Mistress, and I am at your service.”

Sophia looked into the girl’s eyes until the girl looked down.

“You’re dismissed.”

Sophia covered her mouth to hide the smile that blossomed there, and coughed.

What a very pleasant surprise!

When Sophia returned home, she decided it was time for Willow to return. She hit the speed dial and left instructions before climbing into bed.

She lay there thinking about Edna and Tommy. It was rare for both to be gone at the same time. She’d miss them, but she was Mistress Sophia. A few friends out of town weren’t going to put a hitch in her giddy-up!

Mistress Sophia burst into tears.

32

PORSCHE AND VERONICA sprawled in their T-shirts and panties on the king-size bed in the master bedroom while Betty was out buying groceries.

“She sure loses the rock, paper, scissors game a lot,” Porsche observed.

“She always throws a rock.” Veronica replied. “I could win every time if I wanted to.”

Porsche smiled.

“Get your ass over here. I want to feel your fingers in me.”

Porsche scooted closer, her fingers playing “in and out” along the seams of Veronica’s panties.

Veronica lifted her ass off the bed and pulled off her panties. She twirled them on her finger then grabbed one end of the elastic and sling-shotted the pair across the room. She lifted her ass higher and spread her legs wider.

Porsche swung around in front of Veronica’s display. She looked down at Veronica’s beaver and felt her own pussy tighten.

“You do have a tasty twat.”

Porsche licked Veronica’s pussy very very softly, barely touching her flesh. The hairs on Veronica’s arm rose up and her spine tingled as Porsche went to work.

Porsche swirled her tongue around and over Veronica’s lips, lapping up the juices gathering there. She made her tongue a little sword and darted it around, pressing and poking with skill. Porsche cupped an ass cheek with one hand, the other stroking soft pussy hairs and gently pulling the lips apart, making Veronica writhe. Porsche kept sliding over the lips with her tongue, pressing the lips together, licking across and in between them, then separating them again, exposing that beautiful clitoris and again teasing it with licks and nibbles so close, so very close but not there, not there.

Teasing.

Driving Veronica wild.

“Al, please, baby. Oh, Al…”

“Are you ready for me? Are you ready to be fucked? Do you want me to take your clit in my mouth? Do you want me to suck on your clit? Rub it? Lick it?”

“Yes! Now, please, nownownow.”

Porsche took the clit in her teeth very, very gently and wrapped her lips around it. Then she pushed two fingers into Veronica’s pussy and began to scissor them back and forth, her mind briefly filled with the image of the three of them playing rock paper scissors as her fingers moved back and forth.

Veronica moaned. “Oh, yeah, Oh, yeah!” Her hips moved back and forth. Porsche quit scissoring, pulled her fingers out all the way, then plunged in again as deep as she could. She vibrated her hand and licked, her tongue flat against the clit. Long strokes, long beautiful strokes, until she felt the quaking begin. Veronica shuddered and muttered and moaned for a very long time before falling back exhausted against her pillow. She held out her arms, and Porsche fell into them.

“I’ll do you ... in a minute ... ”

“Later, baby. You can do me later. Just enjoy yourself now.” And to Porsche’s surprise, she realized she meant it and that, for once, she, Porsche DeSaint, didn’t have an ulterior motive.

When Betty came home, she found the two still on the bed spooning against each other, Porsche’s hand wrapped around one of Veronica’s breasts, the dragon’s head peeking up over her thumb, Veronica snoring gently. She put away the groceries, then went back into the bedroom, climbed in behind Porsche and spooned up against her, wondering if life could get any better than this.

33

MISTRESS SOPHIA AND WILLOW were at Sophia’s. A set of hog-tie X bars were positioned on the bed. Sophia had purchased the X bars years ago from an artist specializing in bondage tools. This one was fourteen inches long, two semi circles welded together in the center to form a lovely X. She loved to see Willow, left hand bound to right foot and right to left. The device displayed her beautifully.

Willow knelt next to them and Sophia began strapping in first one ankle and then the other.

“Give me your wrists.”

Willow’s hands came back behind her and Sophia strapped the right wrist to the left ankle bar and the left wrist to the right ankle bar. Sophia stepped back. Willow looked up at her from her kneeling position, already close to coming—these types of bondage devices just did that to the poor girl.

Sophia strode over to the dresser and took a red long stemmed rose out of a milky white vase. She brought the rose over to Willow and began caressing her with the opened bloom, the silky feel of the rose raising goose bumps on Willow’s arms, legs, and breasts.

Mistress Sophia raised the rose and brought it down onto Willow’s shoulder blade. She raised it again and brought it down against her back. She continued languidly whipping Willow with the rose until it began to drop its petals onto the floor. When the rose had lost all its petals Mistress Sophia began to strike a bit harder aiming for the fleshy bits.

Whack, whack, whack. The stem came down over and over, Willow feeling it, tingling slightly from it. After a series of passes, she leaned down next to Willow and whispered into her ear, “Some harder ones now and then some really hard ones, ones with the bite of thorns.” In response, Willow sucked in her breath.

“Oh, we need something under you for this ... ” Sophia brought a big black pleather-upholstered foam wedge and arranged it in front of Willow, then gently leaned the girl forward into it.

She picked up the rose stem and struck, once, twice, three times on the meaty flesh of Willow’s ass, three times on her inner thighs, three more on the backs of her upper arms, in and around the X of the hog tie bars. Then, as promised, the next swat landed on her ass and she felt a thorn bite—a lovely nibble from the rose. More followed until her ass and thighs were covered with tiny pinpricks of blood and a scattering of tiny welts.

Willow’s pussy was dripping so fiercely, a small puddle had formed beneath her. Mistress Sophia took the stem and very gently pulled it across Willow’s cunt lips. They were so slick, the stem glided through smoothly, a thorn only catching twice—and with just a pinch of pain.

The next thing Willow felt was her mistress’s mouth on her pussy, lapping at her, drilling her, her mistress’s teeth tugging oh-so-softly on her pussy and her ass cheeks. The exquisite sensation of teeth and tongue and hot breath on her, all over her, her arms and legs immobilized in the restraints.

Willow allowed her lover full access and total permission to do with her as she pleased, trusting in Mistress Sophia to treat her with the perfect blend of pain and pleasure, just the right level of sensation to blow her mind.

No one has ever made love to me like Mistress Sophia. She searched her mind for words ... exquisite, fantastic, sensational, amazing ... They all seemed so pale, so small ...

Words were unable to encompass the feelings that welled in her whenever Sophia strapped her into restraints, put her in a ball gag, blindfolded her, tied her to the bed, used the spreader bar on her, inserted dildos inside her waiting cunt and ass, caressed and then beat her with a flogger, a paddle, her hand.

Oh, her hands! On me, in me ... from the front, from behind, massaging, squeezing, pinching, pulling, grabbing, tickling, flicking, rubbing ... and her mouth ... everywhere ... in me ... our tongues twisting and dancing around each other, Sophia’s tongue darting into my ear, teasing my asshole, diving in, twirling around in my pussy, lapping, sucking, nipping, my lips swelling with the touch ...

And now, now, briefly, the stem caressed her ass and her pussy, and then Sophia’s hand was on her and in her, her other hand on her waist, guiding her gently back and forth as her fingers worked her, the stem of the rose resting on her back. Willow’s breathing came faster as Sophia’s skilled fingers found her G-spot and massaged, came out and in again, and out and in again, lathering her up. Willow’s pussy clenched at the fingers, pulling them deeper inside her, then releasing so her hole opened wider, so she could be filled up, stuffed. Sophia’s mouth assaulted her asshole now, and Willow opened here too, wanting to accept that darting tongue, Sophia’s thumb, her finger, a butt plug or dildo. Whatever her mistress deemed she needed, she deserved, filling her up so full, raising the tension in her body until she thrummed with it, going up, up, she couldn’t go any further ... but no, the fingers working, the tongue flicking. Her ass, her lips, her tits so responsive, thrumming harder, harder ... up, up, up ...

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Willow sobbed, nearly in a panic from the intensity, yet wanting it to continue for as long as possible—this sweet, sweet space, this entire world of sensation. Up ... up ... until, finally, she simply could take no more and waves of that indescribable flood cascaded over her, over her, over her. And her brain was mush. Everything was absent then. The great white nothing—or was it black?

Sophia unbuckled the restraints. Willow’s body lay still for so long that Sophia bent down to make sure she was still breathing. Then she went over to the other side of the bed and lay next to the prostrate girl. Looking at her lying there—Willow’s face, hidden by a fan of her hair, just the tip of her nose peeking out, her shoulders looking so delicate, so vulnerable, her limbs, a jumble, lying where they fell when Sophia removed the bars—Sophia felt a rush of affection.

Is this love?

Willow stirred and turned. Sophia reached out and stroked Willow’s hair and her cheek. Willow’s eyes were glassy and her mouth hung slack.

“You just destroyed me ... you totally annihilated me.” Then Willow rose up and threw her arms around Sophia. “Thank you! Thank you!”

Sophia hugged Willow back, the game totally abandoned, as she pulled the girl to her, holding her tightly, wanting to hold her tightly like this for a very long time. She smelled the girl’s hair against her face, inhaling the fragrance of honey and lily she had come to know and love. She pulled back and stroked Willow’s cheek, giving it an affectionate pinch, then pulled her close again.

“Would you like to go to Paris?” she whispered into Willow’s ear.

END