by Joey W. Hill
"No...please. I want to be with you...both."
"What will you call me when you're in my home?" Lyda's grip constricted enough to leave bruises. Gen felt a thrill shoot through her with the pain. When her lips parted in aroused response, Lyda's eyes flashed triumph. "Tell me, right now."
"Mistress. Oh God. Please."
It came out a wail. Lyda gave the barest of nods, and Noah changed rhythms once more. Not a frantic devouring that matched the chaos of Gen's mind. Instead, he began a slow stroke around her clit, a circling motion combined with the press of his tongue, the sucking of his lips she could hear. It only took three such rotations and she was like a stone fired out over Niagara Falls. Experiencing a crazy, stomach-rolling rush, tumbling over and over, buffeted by sheets of water, blinded by the glittering diamond flow, the mist and foam.
He maintained that deliberate rhythm as her climax pulsed through her tissues, as her pussy gushed its release. He made a surprised, pleased noise, suckling the flood of juices. She was making a thin sound, strangled from a deep part of her that wanted release on so much more than a physical level. Something just out of reach, but oh so close. So much closer than she'd been in a really long time. It was terrifying.
When she was gasping, limp in their hold, she trembled under Noah's kisses along her thighs, the brush of Lyda's knuckles along her damp face, against her breasts as she readjusted Gen's bra, the neckline of the dress. Gen kept her eyes shut, face pressed against Lyda's upper arm. Not thinking was a conscious choice, because to think would be to evaluate what she'd done and reach a serious WTF.
But it was inevitable. The bitch of such an incredible experience was how it resurrected lost dreams and hopes, unleashed a soul-deep yearning. She was clinging to the bittersweet moment as long as she could, a slippery rock face in whitewater.
"She's going to crash," Lyda said. "It's where she is right now, who she is. Bring her, Noah. We'll see what we can do about that. We're going home."
It was too soon. She couldn't get up. Her legs were noodles. But Noah lifted her, taking her out of Lyda's arms. Lyda stayed close, giving Gen's hair another stroke. "Take her to my car. I'll follow in a few moments."
No one had ever carried her as an adult. Noah brushed a kiss over her temple. "Sshh," he murmured. "I've got you, baby. It's all right."
No one except her first husband had called her baby, and that had only been when they were dating and he wanted to have sex. The first time she'd heard him say it, her heart made a tiny leap, like now. She hadn't realized then the implied promises behind the endearment--care and protection--were empty.
Her head felt like a bowling ball, so she kept it on Noah's shoulder. "I'm older than you, you know. Calling me baby seems...weird."
"Does it really seem weird, or is the weirdness because it doesn't?"
Yes. Because it felt exactly like what she wanted him to call her at this moment. It stroked her nerves, calmed her. And that agitated her. She couldn't explain that, even to herself, so she said nothing.
He took her through the club, back to the crowded main foyer. She kept her eyes closed, even when the hostess stopped them. "Oh, it's you, Noah. That's fine. Go ahead. Have a good night."
In the relative quiet of the parking lot, she wondered if she was getting heavy to him. Yes, he was strong, but he was lean. She didn't consider herself overweight, but she wasn't skinny. He didn't seem to be tiring, though. He hadn't even adjusted his grip. He still held her in a secure cradle.
"Why did they stop you?" Her speech was sluggish.
"Security stops anyone not leaving under their own steam. They don't take chances on someone using a date rape drug or letting subspace disorientation cause a nonconsensual situation. But the owners here know I'd never endanger anyone else, no matter what a Master or Mistress ordered me to do."
When he let her feet down, she was standing by a black Escalade with all the trappings. Apparently, Lyda working those two jobs in high school had paid off. The nursery must be a successful venture, and she obviously hadn't made poor choices in men, like Gen had. Her corset was probably custom made, not underwear bought off the discount rack.
She realized abruptly she'd put her car key in her bra, and it wasn't there. "My key..."
"Lyda has it. She put it into her bag so you wouldn't lose it."
It also made a cowardly escape impossible. Not that she would do that. Maybe. "What about yourself?"
"Hmm?" He had his arm around her waist, so she could lean against him, get her bearings. He was nuzzling her temple, long fingers stroking her hip. He was an irresistible blend of nurturer and utter temptation.
"You said you wouldn't put anyone else in danger. It was a weird way to word it. What if they put you in danger? You said no murder, unless you deserved it, but there are a lot of awful things that don't result in death."
"She doesn't miss much, does she? Even when she's a little fuzzy." Lyda strode toward them. She was wearing an embroidered silk tunic over her corset, belted with a silver and black sash. A tote bag was slung over one shoulder. The Escalade chirped as she unlocked it and opened the passenger door. "Put her in the front seat with me."
Noah slid Gen onto the seat and leaned in to pull the belt across her. Gen laid her hand on his back, tracing the Yours Unconditionally tattoo, sliding up over the Celtic heart as he shifted to buckle the belt. Catching her hand, he kissed her knuckles before laying the hand in her lap.
"I could have done my own seat belt," she informed him. "It was more fun to let you do it."
Amusement captured his expression at her slurred tone. "I bet you're a sexy, adorable drunk," he said.
"Not drunk. Just lost. Confused." She wanted to ask him if she should be doing this, and that disturbed her. She could ask herself. If she'd made a wrong choice, she could back away from it. Even now, her mind wasn't that scrambled, even if her physical coordination was.
What had Lyda said? She's going to crash. Was that what this sudden despairing feeling was?
"Hey." Lyda slid in front of Noah, framing Gen's face in her hands. Noah was right behind her, his hand resting on Gen's leg. "You're not going to be alone tonight, Gen. You're with us. Okay?"
"Okay."
Lyda slipped out from between them and Noah closed the door. Lyda tossed him the key to Gen's car and a T-shirt from the bag slung on her shoulder. As he caught them, she pointed to Gen's car, parked further down the same row. "Follow us home."
*
Lyda had the radio on a satellite station that played oldies. The late hour and her post-climactic lassitude should have made Gen as mellow as the music. But those weird feelings kept cycling in her mind. Past baggage, disappointments and worries, twining with current concerns. What would she be doing with Noah and Lyda the rest of the night? What would Lyda demand of her? Gen had called her Mistress. Only once, but had that set up certain expectations? Things she should rectify?
"I'm not sure if I want to do anything else tonight. Maybe we should pull over and I can head for home. I had a really good time, though..." God, she sounded stupid. "I'm not sure if what I did was just the situation, hormones, whatever. You and Noah...you two could convince Mother Teresa to go home with you. I don't want to be a disappointment."
"Or get too deep. Take too many risks?"
Lyda's tone was even, neutral, making it impossible for Gen to bristle. Much. "I'm not good at this kind of stuff."
"One-night stands? Relationships? Sex?" Lyda glanced at her. The sudden trace of warmth in her eyes made her seem more approachable.
"Yes," Gen said bluntly. "I suck at it. All of it. You seem like a decent person, and I have no idea of your expectations in this situation. I don't want to be rude to a friend of Marguerite's."
Lyda's visage sharpened. "Did you do what you did tonight because you think you owe sexual favors to Marguerite's friends?"
"No." Gen blanched. "God, no. I didn't mean it like that."
"So why did you bring Marguerite's name into it at all?"
Lyda gave her a shrewd look. "Do you feel an obligation to her?"
"I...she's been very good to me. She's a friend. Family, really. I love her. I just...I don't know. You have a connection to her, and I didn't want to screw with that. Screw it up. That's all. Give me a break. You fried my brain."
It was a relief to see amusement return to Lyda's face, but she didn't say anything for the next few intersections. She was an aggressive driver, one who drove with the speed of traffic rather than the speed limit, and maneuvered through congestion like a Tijuana taxi driver. It didn't unsettle Gen, though, because Lyda projected the same poise she seemed to bring to every situation.
In the heat of a sexual moment, it was clear how liberating that confidence could be to whoever was under Lyda's command. Outside that moment, it left Gen feeling uncertain, on quicksand. Not worthy. She didn't care for the feeling, especially since she knew it was self imposed. She straightened in the seat. When she did, Lyda was slowing down for a traffic light. After a glance at Gen, she slid a finger beneath the neckline of Gen's dress, straightening the curled fabric. Her knuckle brushed Gen's breast, leaving a tingling wake as she withdrew.
"You're not going to screw anything up, Gen. I have no expectations of you except what you've promised. To come spend the night in my home. I'll let you know what I want when we're there, but the choices you make are yours, and none are wrong."
"I need to get up early. Go home and do some things."
"I had some things left over today from the nursery I need to do tomorrow as well. Of course, if I don't lock him up, Noah will probably handle them by dawn."
"I noticed he's a night owl." Despite him saying he'd slept well at her house, Gen had woken a couple times that night and the subsequent one to find Noah reading by a book light. Yet he'd been up well before her both days.
"He doesn't sleep well at night, unless he's completely wrung out." Lyda shifted lanes. "What did you think about being in charge of him for the weekend?"
"I didn't really think of it that way. He was a guest."
"I mean when you told him to come for you. You gave me somewhat of an answer in the club, but I want to hear more."
"Oh." Gen focused on passing Tampa traffic. At just after ten o'clock, the town was still wide awake. She took a steadying breath. "I liked how he was willing to let me take the lead on certain things, but that's not really the same thing as what you do. The way he took care of things, took care of me...that's more about what he is than me acting like a Domme, right?"
"Much of it is instinct, and you seem to have good instincts." Lyda glanced at her. "Fierce rabbit. Soft fur. Haven't seen much of your teeth and claws yet, but they're there, once you're less worried about being careful."
"I've been less careful. It doesn't work out." Gen brushed her hair back, glancing down to confirm that seam was still straight. She could still feel the lingering effect of Lyda's touch. She wanted to stroke her fingers over it, reignite those nerve endings. She should be done with sex for the night, but her simmering body told her otherwise.
"Depends on whether you're with people you can trust." Lyda looked in the rearview mirror. "Noah pulled off. He must be picking up drive-through. He didn't eat dinner yet."
Gen thought it more likely Noah had found her ancient compact car wasn't capable of keeping up with Lyda. "So, what will we be doing for the rest of the night?" she asked. Trying to sound casual.
Lyda turned off the main road. "I'm not going to tell you. That's part of the anticipation. As I said, the choices will be yours, Gen, but I view you as mine for the night. I'll treat you accordingly. The things I'll do with you are more light handed than what I do with Noah, but what's light handed for him will push your limits to the max."
That pretty much tangled up Gen's brain and took care of any attempts at idle chitchat for a few minutes. They turned off on a road with a big sign for Growing Things Nursery. Apparently Lyda lived on the same property as her business. "Are you ever light handed with Noah?"
"Never. It doesn't work for him, because that's not what he needs. If and when I get more demanding with you, it will be different, because your needs are different."
Lyda pulled up to the house, which looked like a 1920s clapboard farmhouse. Moonlight glinted off several large greenhouses beyond it. A line of solar lights etched out the front walkway. Removing the key from the ignition, Lyda put her wrist on the wheel. She slid a finger along Gen's knee, playing under the hem of the dress. "You're a very sexy woman, Gen. The more you believe that, the more people will feel it when you're around them. They'll see it in the way you walk and dress, the way you present yourself to the world. You're a woman who, if you were truly owned and cherished, would set the world on its ear."
Gen had never thought of herself as any of that. Up until that last part, she would have said that Lyda was describing herself. But Lyda would never be owned.
"If you were treating me...heavy handed, what would you do? Unless it's revealing your diabolical master plan. Or mistress."
Lyda's lips curved. "Don't taunt me, rabbit. It's not a place you're ready to go." Her gaze swept Gen again. "As we were driving home, I would have ordered you to spread your legs and put two fingers inside yourself, your thumb on your clit. No movement of those fingers, no playing with yourself. Just your hand on and inside your pussy while I was driving, to remind you I'm in charge, that your body belongs to me. It's my plaything tonight. I'd want you to feel how wet you were getting, not from the stimulation of your hand, but from the thought of how I'm controlling you, commanding your arousal."
Her gaze shifted. "Once we pulled into my driveway, I'd have you pull your fingers out of yourself, show them to me. I would tell you to suck on them, clean them with your mouth. Then I'd kiss you, taste your pussy on your lips, and think about what I'm going to do with that tasty little cunt to keep it wet for me. You're a squirter and--"
"Don't. I hate that word."
She hadn't meant to cut Lyda off, as much because it revealed too much about herself as to avoid being rude. "Guy, my first husband, laughed about it. It made me feel dirty. Gross."
"Asshole." Lyda stroked her thigh, tugged on the hem of her dress. "Look at me, Gen. I loved watching you do it. Do you remember the noise Noah made? It turns him on three ways to Sunday. He'll work his ass off to earn the right to fuck you, feel that happen around his cock."
"That would be my choice, not yours."
"You're right about that. But if we go down a road where you give yourself to me, at times it becomes one and the same."
She should disagree with that, but the way Lyda said it, the sensuous inflection, her fingers still drifting over Gen's thighs, made it difficult to articulate the reasons it wasn't true. She struggled to get back on track. "What else...would you make me do?"
"I have no close neighbors." Lyda drew her attention to their surroundings. The white house had one outside spotlight, showing Gen a small yard with a variety of flowers and potted plants. A stepping stone walkway was illuminated by the solar lights. "I'd tell you to take off the dress, walk up to the door in that cute bra and panty set and your heels. That's all you'd be wearing for the rest of the night. Or less."
"What does that give you?" Closing nerveless fingers on her thighs, Gen cleared the rasp out of her throat.
"There's a sweet vulnerability to a woman who submits to another woman. The way she kneels at my feet, wearing nothing but her underwear. I like looking at the line of her spine, the nape of her neck when her hair drapes forward because I've made her lower her head, raise her ass in the air, spread her legs. It's exciting you, isn't it? Hearing me describe it to you."
Gen gave a spare nod.
"Spread your legs, baby." Lyda said it so softly, and she used that same endearment Noah had. Like the two people themselves, it elicited different reactions from her, both of them intense. Pleasurable. Gen loosened her thighs, throat working as Lyda slid a finger beneath the panties, stroked her cunt. "There you are, so wet and h
ot for me."
"I don't know anything about you," Gen said desperately. "Except you worked two jobs in high school."
They hadn't had any of the normal discussions for a date. Background, family. She knew Lyda's profession only by happenstance, not inquiry.
"I'm a Mistress, Gen. For tonight, your Mistress, by your own choice. There will be time to learn more, but there's a difference between asking because you want to know me better, and trying to hold onto control." Lyda withdrew her finger, touched it to Gen's mouth, a gentle but inexorable probe that had Gen tasting herself.
"Sweet, sweet honey. I want to fuck you into oblivion, Gen. Until I'm the only thing you can hold onto to keep your world sane." Her gaze ran over Gen's flesh, encompassing the dress and shoes, the hair curling around her face. "You've given me hints of who you are, enough that I want to pull you out of that chrysalis and see what you become when you let go of the shit you don't need anymore."
Light flooded the vehicle as Noah pulled in behind them. Gen, snared in a look that had become more steel than liquid silver, was released as Lyda glanced in the mirror. "Let's go inside." Opening her door, she exited the vehicle without Gen's response.
Gen stared after her. Her car was right here. She could ask Noah for the key, leave. She wasn't a prisoner. Lyda was trying to unbalance her, and it was working. She'd done something she'd never done before tonight. She wasn't up to a whole night of that. It was time to step back, retreat. If Lyda didn't like that, well, she'd just have to pull someone else out of their "chrysalis". Maybe over-the-top, charismatic Dommes had tried-and-true pickup lines, just like anyone else in the vanilla dating game.
If so, it was a doozy. Gen would give her that.
Lyda had denied Gen any personal information, claiming that Gen was trying to hold onto control. Well, yeah. That was what normal people did, right? Tried to figure each other out, balance the scales, keep things on an even keel so one didn't feel so out of her element she might drown.
She opened the door, slid out. As she did, she was arrested by what was happening at her car. What Lyda had described was apparently a standard requirement for Noah. He'd changed into jeans, maybe when he'd stopped to grab the quick drive-thru meal. He'd put the McDonald's bag on her hood because he needed both hands free to remove the T-shirt Lyda had tossed him. While Gen watched, he shucked off the jeans. Beneath he wore charcoal-gray cotton shorts-styled briefs that made the most of his legs and hugged the appealing package at his groin. He toed off his shoes as well, his bare body a pale blur illuminated by the solar lights.