by Sasha Bond
I slowly extricated myself, careful not to wake her up. She groaned quietly when I put her arm back onto the bed, but she didn't stir. In slow motion, I got up and traipsed to the bathroom. The face looking back from the mirror was still my own, perhaps a bit disheveled, but nothing out of the ordinary. I ran my hands over my breasts, and the slight ache in my nipples told me that yesterday had not just been a dream. Now curious, I captured them between my fingers and pinched. That hurt, so much that my knees buckled, and I quickly let go.
Then I spread my pussy lips, trying to see if something down there looked damaged, but I needed a closer view. So I pulled out the round magnifying mirror from under the sink and set it down on the closed toilet. I spread my legs and crouched over it, again pulling my lips apart. And gasped. My clit was still a bit swollen, lewdly peeking out from its hood, and a lot darker than the surrounding skin.
I gave it a delicate flick and nearly lost my balance, so intense was the feeling which shot upwards between my legs. After I had righted myself, I couldn't resist and flicked it again. Before, I had only ever masturbated in the secrecy of my bed and covered by my blanket. And while I knew that my clit would quickly swell to almost triple its normal size, I had never consciously watched it do so. I had an idea and wet my finger with my spittle before flicking it again. That felt even better. Soon I was flicking my now fully engorged clit every few seconds, relishing that wonderful spark that ignited between my legs.
"Such a naughty girl!"
I jumped backwards, almost toppling the mirror from the toilet, and shrieked. My hands quickly covered my pubes and breasts. My heart raced and my cheeks burned.
"Rachel!" I exclaimed, in lack of a better response.
She only grinned at me and stepped closer. Her hand wrapped around the arm covering my breasts, and she sighed. "Silly girl, don't try to hide what I have already seen up close."
She was right, in a way, and I let her guide my arm to my side. Her look dared me, and after a short moment of insecurity, I let the other arm drop to my side as well.
"Better." She walked around me, and it made me nervous. Then she was behind me, close, and rested her chin on my shoulder. "Don't let me stop you from what you were doing."
I almost gave in. But then a bit of rational thought returned to me, and I started to look for a way out. This was all happening too fast.
"I - I need to pee." I waited, but instead of leaving, her arms went around my body and started to massage my tummy. "Please, Rachel!"
"Please, what?"
Her rhythmic massage heightened my need to urinate, and I wondered if she was doing it on purpose. "Please, I really need to pee, Rachel."
"And? What's the problem?"
She knew damn well what the problem was, but somehow she had managed to make me feel meek and insecure, almost like the evening before.
"Please, Rachel," I pleaded now, "I need to pee, and you're still here." Her hands pressed down even harder onto my tummy, and if she kept this up, I'd not make it another minute. But instead of leaving, she spun me around to face her.
"Listen, Beth," she addressed me, her hands wrapped around my upper arms and her nails digging into my skin, "I have learned a few things about you yesterday. Things I'm sure you didn't even know yourself. One: being ashamed makes you tingle. Two: pain makes you fly. Three: a girl's tongue makes you explode. And, like a good friend should, I'll make you tingle and fly and explode as much as possible."
"That - that's not true!" I protested, because it wasn't true. I had already been worked up yesterday, that's what had made me agree to the whole thing, and then Rachel had kept me from coming and exploited my desperation.
"Let's try an experiment," Rachel proposed, "to see if shame really doesn't turn you on. It'll only take a minute or two, and if it's over and you're not more turned on than before, I'll never bring it up again. Agreed?"
Somewhere deep inside I knew that she was playing me like a violin. But I really thought I'd have a chance to prove her wrong. I nodded.
"Good girl. Keep a tab on your arousal." A few seconds later she had put the mirror on the windowsill and flipped up the toilet lid, then she was softly pushing me towards it.
"What are you doing?" I protested, but I let myself be turned around and pushed down on it. Then my knees were pulled apart, and Rachel knelt down between them, her arms resting on my things. Then her fingers pulled apart my pussy lips.
"Pee, Beth," she ordered, "I want to see that hot, stinky piss shoot out of your body and into the bowl."
Her eyes were only a foot from my pussy. It felt obscene, and degrading. My cheeks pulsed in shame. But even though I begged her to stop this, with my eyes and voice, she didn't relent. But I just couldn't pee like this - until she pinched her nails into my pussy lips. The pain, while far from the pain when she bit my nipple and clit, was still unexpected, and the moment of distraction was enough for my bladder to claim its release. And while my mind was mortified about what was happening, the relief of finally being able to pee was wonderful, almost sexual. It seemed to take ages, like a river leaking from between my legs and splashing into the white bowl, but after a minute it slowed to a trickle and finally the last drop splattered into the toilet. I tried to reach for the toilet paper.
"Stop! Before you wipe, tell me how aroused you are. More or less?"
She looked up at me, self-assured and expectant. When I looked at my own body, I gasped. My nipples were extended like tiny, blood-red daggers, and my clit almost resembled a small cherry.
"More or less?" Rachel inquired again.
I had to hang my head in defeat. "More," I whispered.
"See," she declared, happy, "I told you so, but you wouldn't believe me. You should really start to trust my judgment. Talking about judgment," she pulled a few sheets of toilet paper off the roll and folded them, "I think your infatuation with Jacob was a case of bad judgment on your side. Lean back."
I leant back, a bit miffed now. "What do you mean with bad judgment? He's not that bad."
"Not bad, my ass, he wouldn't know how to treat a submissive if she lay at his feet with a manual. He's a jock."
"Submissive?" I had come about that term a few times browsing through the internet, looking for something to read that didn't stretch my purse to the limit. "I'm not a submissive."
"Not? I didn't realize." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Then how do you call a girl who asks her girlfriend to bite her clit, tortures her own nipples, pees on command and lets her friend wipe her after peeing?"
I guess I'm just naive. I really hadn't made the connection, and I swear that I had, in my righteous indignation, completely missed that the hand guiding the tissue through my folds wasn't my own. Both points did nada to alleviate my shame. The tissue dropped into the bowl, and I hastily jumped up and closed the lid when Rachel pressed the button to flush. She immediately guided me down to sit on the lid.
"As I said, before you so helped so brilliantly in proving my point, Jacob was an error in judgment, one I couldn't let you make, photos or not." Her eyes locked on mine, probably looking for hints of protest. I was still trying to wrap my mind around everything, but perhaps she was right. Jacob was good-looking, true, with a fit body, but apart from that and the one moment in the hallway our contacts had consisted of friendly hellos in passing. I nodded, a bit defeated.
"He's not coming to the card game on Wednesday evening."
Now my eyes went wide. "When did you..."
"I didn't invite him in the first place. I knew it was a bad idea."
I gasped. So all of her elaborate planning had been a farce? Well, everything that was going to happen after the pictures were taken anyway? I asked her that.
"Oh, Beth, baby," she just smiled, like she was chiding a small child, "nothing was a farce. I was just trying to prove something to you, so I had to work Jacob into the mix. Otherwise you'd have balked at the first minute."
"But the photos?"
"Come here," she ordered i
nstead of answering my question. When I didn't react immediately, she repeated the command, in a sharper voice, and like in a trance, I got up from the lid and stepped in front of her.
"Remember the orgasm you had yesterday? That all-consuming, powerful climax?"
I nodded, my mind racing back through my memories to that wonderful moment when time had seemed to stop.
"Do you want to experience that again and again?"
Once more I nodded.
"Kneel."
I dropped like a stone; thank god we were on the small rug in the middle of the bathroom, otherwise it might have hurt. When I looked up at her, something shifted inside me.
"Sit on your heels and spread your legs, then grip your wrists behind your back."
A little shuffling and I had done as she asked. She studied me with obvious pleasure, and I felt a bit like a pet. Adored, small, and subject to the whims of her owner. Still, I couldn't deny the moisture accumulating between my legs. Something about this treatment resonated in me, and the more I tried to deny it, the more obvious the truth became.
"I'm a submissive," I declared, testing the word on my tongue, and suddenly there was a warm cocoon of surrender wrapped around me.
"My submissive." Rachel's voice was sharp, but it held a loving undertone.
"Your submissive," I conceded.
"And that makes me?" she asked, one eyebrow lifted.
"My - my mistress?" My answer was tentative, and it felt a bit strange. Yes, I had read a few stories featuring that kind of mistress, but those women always were older, more the governess type. Addressing someone my age, someone even a few months younger than me, like that took a bit of getting used to. Hell, addressing anyone like that needed getting used to.
"Yes, your Mistress," Rachel said and stroked my head. "And to make it easier for you to distinguish between your best friend Rachel and your mistress, you'll address me as 'Mistress Summers' when we're alone or when I tell you to."
"Okay," I said, and immediately realized my mistake when Rachel's hand shot down and pinched my nipple painfully.
"I'm sorry, Mistress Summers." The pain faded as soon as I had finished my sentence.
"Good. You're a fast learner, though nobody who knows you would have doubted that. I need to use the loo myself and then I'll have a shower, why don't you make me a coffee and wait for me at the table?"
"Yes, Mistress Summers." I almost jumped upright again, nervous, then traipsed outside and closed the bathroom door behind me. At the table, I had to sit down for a minute. My thoughts were swirling around in my head like a swarm of butterflies. Sitting didn't help though, and so I started to prepare the coffee. I filled up the water, added more beans into the grinder - Italian blend, her favorite - and put a big cup under the outlet. The grinder made a hell of a noise, but it was one of the best machines on the market. After a lot of bubbling and clicking from inside it, the brew ran into the cup, and the aroma made my stomach grumble. I realized that the exertion yesterday evening had left me low on calories, and hastily fished a vanilla cookie from the sweets drawer. It tasted wonderful.
It also managed to appease my stomach, so I finished preparing the coffee. A half teaspoon of sugar and just a hint of milk. I placed it on the table in front of her chair and sat down in mine, awaiting her return.
Then a memory of one of the stories I had read came back, and after a bit of struggling with myself, I dropped to my knees and crawled to the side of her chair, my cheeks flushed and a crazy, giddy feeling in my chest. I spread my knees about shoulder-width apart and set down on my heels, put my hands on my thighs, arched my back and put my chin up, with my eyes to the floor.
The pose was harder to hold than I had expected, and I had to move my upper body back and forth a few times until I found an angle that didn't put too much strain on my back. Then I waited. I heard the water start, then after a minute or two, stop again. A few minutes later it started up again, and I couldn't help but imagine Rachel in the shower, her hair slick and shiny, small speckles of foam adorning her petite breasts, drops of water traveling down between her legs and adorning her beautiful pussy like pearls.
Oh god, when had I started to find her pussy beautiful?
Then the door opened, and Rachel stepped into the bedroom, a white towel around her body, her hair wrapped up inside a pink one. She started to glow when she saw me, and I was assured that I had done something right.
"Your coffee is ready, Mistress Summers." I lowered my gaze to the floor, demure and content.
Rachel sat down on the chair and rewarded me by caressing my cheek. I leaned into her touch and enjoyed the smell of her clean, freshly lotioned skin while she sipped her coffee.
"It's perfect," she proclaimed, "and I'm not just talking about the coffee."
"Yes, Mistress Summers," I agreed, wholeheartedly.
"Fetch me a pad of paper and a pen, Beth, then hop into the shower yourself."
"Yes, Mistress Summers." I acknowledged her order and started to get up, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me.
"I want you to crawl, Beth. In fact, I want you to crawl all the time inside our rooms, unless you have to stand, like for washing the dishes."
"Yes, Mistress Summers." I shifted to all fours and started to crawl to the sofa where our writing utensils were stowed. It wasn't far. As dorm rooms go, ours was quite luxurious - more of a small flat, with space for two beds on both sides of the window, partial walls that separated the sleeping area from the living room. It had a sofa with a coffee table and an ottoman on one side, framed by a low sideboard, and a small kitchenette on the other, with an extensible two-person table and four chairs, of which two were usually stacked between the kitchenette and the wall. The rest of the wall on the sofa side was filled up with our closet, while the other wall held the door to our en-suite bathroom and a slim bookcase. The room was probably a little more than twenty feet wide and a bit longer.
Nevertheless, fetching the pad and paper only took a few seconds, but I could feel Rachel's eyes on my naked bum the whole time. And I enjoyed it. I fidgeted a little with the utensils, fearful to crumple the paper or break the pen when I was crawling, but then I found a solution. I put the pad on my back and the pen between my lips, then I crawled carefully back to her.
She picked up the pad from my back and pulled the pen from my lips with a smile. "Off you go," she ordered with a giggle and a light slap to my bum.
And so I crawled to the bathroom, stretching to turn the knob and pushing open the door with my nose. It felt silly. And hot.
I was just about to close the door when Rachel's voice interrupted me. "Leave the door open, Beth, all the way. And make sure to wash that sticky snatch of yours out well."
I realized what she was doing, really. I'm not as dumb as I appear from time to time. I was on my way to get a degree in digital advertising, after all. I'm just a bit naive now and then, but I was very much aware that she was starting to strip away my privacy, piece by piece, to make me feel more naked and exposed than pure nudity could.
And it worked. I could feel it between my legs.
"I will, Mistress Summers."
Then I crawled into the shower. I had to stand up to get to the shower head, but once it was in my hand, I dropped back to my knees. My shins got a bit cold until I had the water temperature adjusted, but then it was like every other shower - okay, perhaps a bit more awkward. I turned the water off and started to soap my hair and body.
Following Rachel's order, I inserted a soapy finger into my pussy and moved it around. This, of course, made me horny, and it took all of my willpower to stop fondling myself. Instead, I turned the water up again, this time a half turn more of the cold. Not really freezing, but not comfortable either. Once my hair and skin were free of soap, I turned the shower head to massage mode, one single, hard jet of water, and pointed it between my legs with one hand while opening my sex with the other. It was almost painful, but I forced myself to count down from ten before turning off the water
and crawling out of the stall.
Rachel was already waiting for me, a towel in hand, and ordered me to stand up straight, with my arms extended to the sides. She toweled me dry, a new experience. This was sensuous, intimate. She dried every inch of my skin thoroughly, starting from my hair, even my ears, then my arms and down my back, through the crack of my bum and down my legs. When she turned me over, she even dried my face with a corner of the towel, and it was a lover's caress.
She lingered longer than necessary over my breasts, and when she rubbed my pussy even longer, instead of it getting dry, the opposite was happening. She even had me lift my feet and toweled between my toes, which tickled like hell, but I bit my lip and managed not to pull away.