Master of Desire

by Multiple

  Jun didn’t say anything else after that. She kissed Reina, joining their bodies together in an unexpected role reversal.

  She is a reba after all. Jun, the submissive, kissing Reina as if she were her anyone else. The power, the passion… was this how she made love to her exes? Why shouldn’t it be me too? Would this undermine their role-playing? Reina didn’t want to think about it. She wanted to think about the skin tingling sensations flowing through her as she welcomed Jun’s lips to her chest and stomach.

  The courteous woman she bedded took her time removing Reina’s sleep shorts. Something stilled in her veins, and for a moment she wanted to end this, as Jun was dangerously close to tasting something she should not experience directly.

  Then her mouth was on Reina’s omanko, and there was no turning back.

  With Jun beneath the covers, Reina didn’t have to look at her – and Jun couldn’t look at the pleasure on her lover’s face. Don’t shame me. Jun didn’t need to see Reina’s squinting eyes or turns of the lips that said this feels good. Breath after deep breath traveled through her nostrils as Jun’s tongue traveled up and down a pair of nether lips she had never tasted. Every time she licked her lover’s clit, Reina tensed, a mixture of pleasure and discomfort filling her body.

  It’s okay. She steadied her breathing and grabbed Jun’s hand as it emerged from the blankets, searching for her. She won’t make fun of me. Few women would. Certainly not the kind Reina hung around those days. But it was always a fear lurking in the back of her mind – that her masculinity would be challenged, even when she didn’t want to embrace it.

  A woman’s mouth on her fake phallus was hot; a woman’s mouth on her omanko was a goddamned trust exercise.

  Somehow she underestimated Jun’s talents in this field of lesbian love. Of course she’s good. Reina could not deny it. Her legs opened around Jun’s head, willing her to put her face forward, to suck her lover’s clit, and to plunge her tongue in hair and folds. Jun wasn’t a demure vixen in need of mounting when it came to this. She was a tiger, devouring Reina and gradually loosening her up. Women love her for this. Maybe Reina could too.

  Little chokes came from beneath the covers. I must be wet. Reina could not hide her pleasure now. Not with her aieki speaking on her behalf. So she pushed her head back into her pillow and groaned, loudly, squeezing Jun’s hand and throwing herself into the sex they had.

  A landslide occurred in her brain, tearing with it her insecurities and her fears that she wouldn’t be man enough for Jun after this. The way Jun kept at it, minute after minute, told Reina that there was no threat of embarrassment. There would be no point. Instead the good feelings flowed through Reina… and flowed out of her, tightening her abdomen.

  No, she couldn’t orgasm now. There was something else she wanted from this woman of many talents.

  “Stop,” she said, softly at first, until she realized Jun couldn’t hear her. “Stop.”

  Jun detached from Reina and popped out from the covers. Her face in the moonlight was pink – and wet. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Reina took her by the arm and lifted her up. Those eyes, clear and beautiful, did not say anything at her expense. They didn’t judge her. They didn’t even blink.

  “Fuck me,” Reina said quietly. She took Jun’s hand again and played with her fingers. They’re so long..

  Now Jun blinked. “Are you sure?”

  The fact she answered that way told Reina everything she needed to know. “Hurry, before I dry up.”

  A laugh. “With you? I don’t think that’s possible.” She lowered her lips to Reina’s cheek and slipped her hand to where her mouth had been only a few seconds earlier.

  Reina gasped as Jun’s fingers touched her clit and then the edge of her omanko. Eyes shut, breath heavy, she wrapped her hand behind Jun’s head and willed it to not be regrettable.

  It wasn’t.

  She jerked at the initial penetration, Jun’s fingers sliding into her easily thanks to her arousal. “It feels good,” she said without a filter, like a common woman having sex. That’s what I am. There was something liberating about it… knowing that she could lie here and take it like she wanted, and it wouldn’t change a thing between her and Jun.

  Coherent thought didn’t stay with her for long. Jun was good at this as well – quite good – and those long, dexterous fingers made short work of Reina’s ego.

  She cried out as intense delight filled her bones and joined her blood on its journey through her body. Jun was there too, thrusting into her at a careful speed. It’s just what I want. Reina wanted other things too, like to reach beneath Jun’s shirt and find her unbridled breasts. I’m still me, after all. That thought brought her comfort. The breaths coming from Jun’s throat brought her to the edge of orgasm.

  “Don’t stop,” she said, thrusting her hips against Jun’s fingers. They reached deep inside her, curving with the contours of her body and brushing against the most sensitive place inside. Nobody touches me there. The harder Jun thrust into her, the more Reina knew she was about to burst. “I’m coming…”

  That modest assertion quickly turned into a loud moan.

  “Fuck!” Reina cried, head slamming into her pillow as her body lost control. Coming in this manner was always different from the other way… the masculine way. Fuck me, I’m a woman. She knew it – embraced it – now.

  The best part was that Jun didn’t say anything. She watched Reina, a bit entranced, but did not coo at her, flirt with her, or encourage her to do anything. She merely watched and listened to Reina have her hard orgasm without comment.

  When it was over, Jun rubbed her fingers inside Reina’s omanko before easing them out and tickling her lover’s thigh. Reina dropped her legs, endorphins ruling her brain chemistry.

  “I wasn’t expecting that tonight,” Jun said. “But I have no complaints.”

  Reina glanced at her through one eye. “Good, because we’re not done yet.”

  “Oh?”

  The voice of a woman writhing in anticipation was unmistakable. Reina cupped her hand around Jun’s cheek before shoving her into the bed.

  Maybe there is a little reba in me. She slowly removed Jun’s clothing, starting with her shirt and working down to her pants. Revealing this body was everything Reina needed to feel aroused again, even after her recent orgasm. Because now we do it the way I like best. Both of them giving and taking.

  Reina sat back on her legs and pulled Jun up into her lap. The bedding fell away from their naked bodies.

  What is this anyway? Reina pressed her lips upon Jun’s skin, starting with her throat and then her shoulder. She could feel the heat from Jun’s omanko on her lap, wet and inviting. I could take her like I always do. God knew Jun would like anything at this point. Maybe that was why Reina wanted to relish in her lover’s body and enjoy what it had to offer right there.

  “Reina…” No formalities, and no mind games. Why does that make me happy? Reina kissed Jun’s breasts and rocked against her hips. Hands were in her hair, and those long fingers felt like Heaven against her scalp.

  One breath later, Reina fell to the bed with Jun and lost herself in their ardor.

  For twenty-five years Reina had loved on hundreds of women. Some were sweet and soft, and others were hard and feisty. Many were in between. I don’t know where she falls . A soft, hard body combined with those reba leanings that made her a mystery to Reina. A woman who projected confidence and sophistication by day but demanded demeaning scenarios in the bedroom. Most of the time. Jun didn’t ask for any of that now. Tonight they were not there as Jun the feminine submissive and Reina the masculine domme. They were themselves in their purest forms.

  As they clung to one another, legs twisting so their omanko aligned and rubbed together, Reina wondered if there was anything unethical about this union. But then Jun’s leg lifted between hers and made her forget everything but the here and now.

  Another orgasm built inside her. She smelled Jun’s body, f
easting on the animalistic urges it produced; she drank the vision of her, of her breasts with their hard nipples and her soft stomach; she tasted the salt and the sweat on lips and throat. Most of all she felt and listened – felt the heat between them and listened to the sounds of two women making love.

  Are we making love? The thought both thrilled and terrified Reina. Or perhaps that was her orgasm returning from where it retreated.

  Jun came first, grabbing Reina from behind the head and crying into her ear. She sounded like a crazed, wanton succubus draining the life and dignity from Reina. Her omanko became hot and wetter, and her throat – that beautiful, tender throat – lay open for Reina to consume. She threw herself into pleasing her lover, from her leg against omanko and lips on skin and nipples.

  She almost didn’t hear what Jun cried in her final, world-shaking moments of pleasure.

  “I love you!” Earnest, honest, raw. It was the cry and decree of a woman’s true heart, and Reina ate it up as if she were famished for the attention. Famished for Jun’s love.

  The master made love to her mistress; the mistress rejuvenated the world of her master.

  Author’s Note: Master/Mistress is a condensed excerpt from the full-length novel “NIGOU.” Part of the REN’AI RENSAI lesbian erotic romance universe.

  Submission Therapy

  By

  Willsin Rowe & Katie Salidas

  “You really should change that painting on your wall, Derek.”

  “Natasha, I’ve asked you many times to call me Dr. Benson.” He leaned over and checked his notes, then jotted something down. Probably a remark about my attitude. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it damn sure won’t be the last.

  “No doubt you have, Derek.”

  For a shrink, he really seemed stuck on formality, for whatever reason. Some people’s lives are just so petty. I flicked my hand toward the gauche painting in question. “I mean, it’s not calming at all. Thick daubs of acrylic that look like cellulite on the canvas. And what’s with the oranges and blues together? That’s just insane.”

  Dr. Benson didn’t appear to get the joke. Simpleton. He pushed his bookish glasses up on his long narrow nose and glared. “Natasha, I’ve been seeing you for a year, now.” His tone was laced with disappointment. “And you’ve made no progress. No change.” He sat back in his vinyl chair. “None at all.”

  “Yep, got it, Derek.” I blocked out his face with my watch for a second. The man could talk! I had four meetings scheduled for this afternoon.

  He flipped his notebook and it closed with an unusually loud snap. “You’re still control-dependent, and we’ve made no headway with your addiction to sex either.”

  I could recite this lecture word for word now. Time was money and these sessions were already costing me too much of both. Apparently with no results to show for them.

  I stood and smoothed my skirt. Derek may be a psychiatrist, but he’s still a man. A straight man, judging by the way his eyes scanned my legs. Too bad for him. If he weren’t just a dull, if handsome, shrink, I might have used him for some much-needed stress relief. He could call it addiction all he liked, but for me it was head and shoulders above these damn therapy sessions.

  “Well, Derek. Thanks for a wonderful year. I can’t tell you much I’ve enjoyed losing two valuable hours each week, all for nothing.”

  He smiled congenially but the strain in his voice was apparent. “If you’d done the exercises as I instructed, you’d have lost six hours.”

  I dug my cellphone out of my Louis Vuitton Olive Monogram Antheia Leather Hobo. “Which is why I didn’t.”

  “Which is why you’ve failed at therapy and why you are failing at life.”

  The deadpan delivery of those words shocked me. Taken aback, I sucked in a breath and, for a moment, considered throwing my phone straight at his stupid smiling face.

  “What the fuck did you just say? Have you seen the size of my house? My portfolio of investments? And I’ve failed? If anything it’s you who’s failed, Derek. You’re supposed to cure me.”

  Derek folded his arms. “Natasha, we’ve discussed this rudeness of yours.”

  “I’m not being rude; I’m being efficient, getting right to the head of the matter, which is your lack of results.”

  “There’s a difference between efficiency and rudeness, Natasha, and you are being—”

  I dialed Simon’s number. “Bring the car around.” Then snapped my phone closed and turned to leave.

  “Natasha?”

  “Derek, I don’t want to appear...efficient, but I have places to be.”

  He surprised me by rushing to the door and blocking my exit. I was unprepared for such animation. Standing there filling the doorframe with his arms crossed he almost appeared authoritative. In his khaki pants and black Oxford shirt, and with his blue eyes narrowed behind dark framed glasses he looked like he’d just passed Door Security 101. “So why are you still here?”

  The unfamiliar steel of his voice seemed to carry a lilt of taunting. I nodded at the hallway behind him. “I’m hardly going to climb over you.”

  “You know what I mean. Why haven’t you gone to yet another doctor?”

  Because no-one else will take me. Because I’ve carved a sharp-tongued path through them all. No way I’d expose myself like that. Not to this nobody. He already had too much of me sitting in his notebooks. I pulled out my gold cigarette case and flipped it open. “I really don’t know.”

  “Natasha, you can’t smoke in here.”

  I rolled my eyes. Tiny lives with tiny rules. “Derek, my company owns this building. One of my companies, anyway.”

  He produced a business card from his pocket. “This is it, Natasha. Your last chance.”

  I glared at the card, but he didn’t waver. Just held it steady as I blew a stream of smoke into his face. Finally I took the thing and checked it over.

  Room 112

  Master Sweet

  “I see your people are no better than mine. I should proof-read for you.”

  Sadly, he didn’t rise to my taunting. He remained remarkably collected, delivering his deadpan statement. “Master Sweet is not a room.”

  I tapped the ash from my cigarette into a potted plant by the door. “So what is it? Candy?”

  “Radical therapy. I’ve tried the softly-softly, ‘tell me how that makes you feel’ method. It’s had no effect. Clearly you need a more hands-on approach.” He tapped the edge of the card in my hand. “And what you’ll find in that room will gel perfectly with your current…addictions.”

  Why didn’t he just come out and say it? I fuck a lot. So what? It was just another thing that no-one else could get right for me. Though I had to admit, any therapy involving sex might be worth a try. “And how much is this radical therapy going to cost me? Time is money you know.”

  “Hotel Bridgeman. One hour.”

  “One hour? You’re cute, Derek, but you didn’t answer my question.” I stopped just short of pinching his cheek.

  “I’m quite serious, Natasha. Time and money are irrelevant. You attend this session. Otherwise we’re done.”

  My first reaction was just to turn and walk. He had no power here. Half of his flea market office furnishings were paid for by my therapy sessions.

  But the sharpness in my chest stopped me. The weight of all my responsibilities made it hard to breathe. All those investments. All those companies. The stocks, the properties, the...oh, what are they called? People, that’s it. And the idea of spilling all my dirty secrets to yet another therapist - if I could find one - actually gave me a flood of desperate affection for this earnest lummox in front of me. I stared at Derek and waited for him to crumble, but he showed no sign of doing so.

  “Derek, I cannot simply blow off my entire afternoon. Even without all my other meetings, there is a stack of paperwork on my desk that’s even taller than you.” The thought of all the work piling up gave me heartburn. No one in my office could be trusted to do the job right.


  He shook his head. His expression finally changed into one of hangdog sadness. “That’s exactly the trouble, Natasha. You’re the tightest-wound person I’ve ever met. Socially or professionally. You’ve carved out this world view and you won’t be swayed. But I assure you that the ulcer, the angina, and the panic attacks will not be tamed by condescension or...efficiency. What you need to learn is how to let go of control and allow others to shoulder some of the responsibility.”

  Fuck this little man and his microscopic life. If he wanted to call me weak, I could easily expose the same pathetic quality in him. I traced my fingers over the soft skin of my breast as I leaned forward and whispered straight into his ear. “Tightness in a woman can be quite a desirable quality, Derek.”

  If my heavy breathing and display of cleavage had any effect on him, he hid it well. He just leaned against me and whispered back. “Natasha, I’m your therapist. We’ve talked about your childhood, your adolescence, and...all the things you’ve done to get where you are. Are you sure your current tightness isn’t just a reaction to all your...looseness?”

  I barely registered that I’d moved, yet suddenly my palm was tingling and Derek was clutching at his cheek, his glasses laying like a crushed insect on the floor.

  A ball of unreleased scream sat in the base of my throat and made it almost impossible for me to speak, but I managed to strangle out a yell. “You voyeuristic cunt! You get off on my exploits, don’t you? I bet you finish every one of our sessions with a ten-minute jerk-off!” I almost spat in his face. “Or maybe you only last five.”

  Derek shook his head and rubbed at his reddened flesh. To my surprise he started chuckling. “Was it something I said?”

  I closed my eyes and pushed a stray tress of black hair back behind my ear. I let a long breath seep out of me as I regained my composure. “You be sure to send me the bill for those glasses, Derek.”

  “One hour. Hotel Bridgeman.” His voice faded slightly as I reached the elevator. “No excuses, Natasha.”

  The limo was waiting out front with the door open. I slipped inside and fastened my seat belt. Simon closed my door and sat in front.