“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 hot 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.
Gen looked toward the house. Lyda had gone inside and left the door open, a screen door keeping out bugs. Gen could see her tossing her keys onto an entranceway table, unconcerned about when and how they might follow her.
She thought about walking from th
e truck in only her panties, bra and heels, like Lyda had described. She imagined Lyda walking next to her, fingertips trailing over the valley of Gen’s spine. It gave her a shiver.
No. She wasn’t ready for that tonight. Wasn’t even sure how much of this submissive stuff she was into doing, outside of the structured club environment. It felt more real here, less like a game.
When Noah touched her back where she’d imagined Lyda touching her, she twitched. He had his clothes folded over one arm and extended the other with a reassuring look, offering his hand. “Like Hansel and Gretel,” he teased her.
Going into the home of a powerful, scary witch. It wasn’t entirely off the mark, though the danger of this one was in the desire to be eaten, not the fear of it. She gazed up into his face. He was relaxed. This was normal to him. Whereas she wondered if she was going to Crazytown, because she took his hand and felt a bit steadier from his firm clasp. But Lyda had made it clear all choices were hers, and so far she hadn’t asked Gen to do anything she’d refuse. The desire for escape had passed, for now.
She was carrying her shoes, and Noah nudged her onto the stepping stones, keeping her out of the vegetation that might prick her feet. The slate still held some of the heat of the humid day. She heard the faint pops of bug zappers.
At the top of the steps, Noah opened the door for her. Thinking of what Lyda said about Noah working his ass off for the right to fuck Gen sent a ripple through her. She had a difficult time not staring at the heavy weight filling the charcoal-gray knit shorts.
Gen managed not to stumble over the threshold as Noah gestured her to precede him. Lyda leaned against the wall at the end of the hall, arms crossed beneath her breasts, one booted foot hooked over the opposite ankle. Her perusal made Gen feel as undressed as Noah. A female glancing at her in a dressing room was just curiosity. Are her thighs fat as mine? Lyda was evaluating her as a sexual being, someone from whom she intended to make sexual demands. The difference was astronomical.
Lyda took off the tunic covering her corset. The latex leggings molded her sex, the tantalizing crease between thigh and hip. As Gen watched, Lyda unfastened the first several hooks of the corset, exposing a deeper plunge between her breasts.
“You’re not in the position I require when you enter my house.”
She was talking to Noah, because he immediately dropped to one knee. He kept his grip on Gen’s hand. Lyda’s gaze remained cool, dispassionate. When she arched a slim brow, Gen wondered if she expected her to kneel.
That wasn’t the scary thing. The scary thing was Gen had to lock her knees to keep herself from doing it. A big part of her wanted to tumble down that rabbit hole, see what adventures lay in wait for her.
This isn’t me. Be cautious.
Better to be safe, even if it made her sorry.
Chapter Six
She’d been so close to doing it, her heart hammered in her throat as if she had. Did Noah feel it? His grip had tightened, his thumb sliding over her palm, a reassurance.
Lyda moved down the hall, her body sexual poetry in motion. “Eyes on the floor. Let go of her hand.”
Gen alone had the pleasure of seeing the latex crease around Lyda’s sex, the way her breasts quivered as she sauntered toward them. She had a thin silver chain wrapped around one hand.
“You knew to kneel when you first entered. You were being polite, trying not to make our guest feel self-conscious. But who do you obey, first and foremost?”
“You, Mistress.” Noah’s voice was respectful.
“Take off your underwear.”
He did so, with more grace than Gen could have managed if she’d been on her knees the way he was. She saw a bare haunch emerge, the seam of his buttocks. When he sat back, she bit back a surprised noise. His cock was locked in a curved, form-fitting metal sheath. His testicles were swollen beneath its steel collar.
She’d thought he’d been erect tonight, and instead it had been the frame of that chastity cage. When he’d been stroking himself, he’d been gripping that sheath, the entire purpose to titillate Gen’s senses. But God… He’d said the pain of getting hard in such a device kept the cock from getting erect, but in that environment, saturated in sex…God, performing oral sex on Gen… Lyda was a sadist.
Lyda let the chain unwind from her hand, dangling a key in front of him. “You may release yourself, now that I know your cock will only be getting stiff from what I do to it. Or what I allow Gen to do to it.”
“Yes Mistress.” When she dropped the key to the floor in front of him, he unlocked a small padlock that rested in the valley provided by his testicles. Gen watched, fascinated, as he parted the two pieces of the sheath. There’d been a thin steel rod inserted into the slit, about an inch long. Jesus.
The tip had milky-white pre-cum collected around it. Even as he removed it, blood was starting to fill his cock. It was clear the organ would soon be standing proud between his thighs. Wearing it only restricted his physical state of arousal, not the mental one.
“As soon as the beast is out of the cage, it’s ready to play.” When Lyda caressed his hair, he pressed his temple to her thigh, brushing his lips there. “Let’s see if you’ve been as good as you’re supposed to be.” She crooned it, but Gen saw the measuring look in her eyes. Squatting, Lyda clasped his cock in a functional grip, probed the slit. Muscles rippled across his back, his body tightening at the stimulation. “Good boy. You didn’t wear it too long.”
She looked at Gen. “He earned himself a severe punishment the night it started to hurt and he didn’t tell me. Taking care of his cock so I have use of it whenever I wish is an important priority for a male sub.”
“What did you do to him?” Having this conversation while Noah kept silent, his eyes down, was odd, but Gen was too curious not to ask. Lyda’s hand remained on his neck as she rose, thumb tapping his main artery in an idle caress that had his fingers curling and uncurling on his thighs.
“I shamed him by doing the cleanings and flushings myself. He took the prescribed antibiotics from my hand. On top of that, he was allowed to do nothing for me, as his Mistress, for a week. If I couldn’t trust him to care for something as precious to me as his dick, I couldn’t trust him to care for me. It did the trick. For now.”
Noah’s cheeks had a dull flush from that exchange. Gen noticed a flex of his jaw muscle. Lyda saw it too. “You have something to say, Noah?” she said sharply.
“No Mistress.”
“Hmm. Gen, are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“Noah, go fix us a snack and a drink. Something with carbs and protein. Gen will need her energy and so will you. Bring it to us in the living room.”
Taking Gen’s hand, Lyda turned and moved up the hallway, leaving Noah there. Gen heard the sound of him rising, his bare feet padding behind them. She wanted to look back, but Lyda kept a brisk pace. As they passed the kitchen, Gen glimpsed an open space with gleaming pots and pans.
The living room had designer furniture and beautiful, bold prints of exotic plants. A flat screen TV was mounted on the wall. Lyda took a seat on the sofa, propping an arm on the back of the couch, her legs curled up beneath her. She patted the cushion in front of her. “Facing me, one leg bent on the seat cushion in front of you, the sole of your foot against your opposite knee, forming a triangle. Other foot on the floor.”
The position stretched the thin crotch of Gen’s panties over her plump sex. It was clear from Lyda’s appreciative glance that the short skirt revealed it. “You blush when I look at your pussy. It’s charming. Noah only blushes if I embarrass him.”
“Why did you? Just now. All of it seemed…mean.”
“Remember what I said about Noah needing the more heavy-handed methods? The cock sheath might seem cruel, but it’s part of what he craves, Gen. A good Domme never does what a sub doesn’t truly, deeply want.” Lyda pursed her lips. “As far as telling you about the infection, a submissive’s top priority is self-care. There’s no failure a good Mistress
punishes more harshly and, with a sub like Noah, you have to remind him, over and over. He’s an excessive nurturer, to the point he could be mistaken for a Dom. His form of submission is like an ocean wave, holding you down. Which makes him an excellent partner to work with a Mistress. It also makes him insanely indifferent to himself.”
She paused, as if she’d say more, but then she shook her head. “Tonight is not about that.”
She reached out, stroked Gen’s hair some more, but when Gen began to lift her own hand to return the favor, Lyda’s look stilled her. “Hands stay at your sides, Gen.”
“I don’t get to touch you?”
“Not unless I give permission.”
That had been easier to accept in the club environment. Here, she found herself more uncomfortable with the messages being sent. Toward her, Noah. “Why is that?”
“Because I said so.” Humor flitted through Lyda’s gaze at the parental dictate, even as her expression remained set, telling Gen that the teasing didn’t change her orders. “As children, we may resent hearing that, but it shuts down the argument, makes us focus on simple obedience. It’s a reminder of structure and boundaries, of who holds the reins. At its root, it’s a feeling of security.”
“Do I seem like someone who needs that?”
“You tell me.” Those silver eyes pinned her. “There’s a part of you that’s thinking you should pull back, tell me to get over myself. You’re telling yourself you need to do something to reestablish us as equals. But another part of you wants to submit, and the why of that has you confused.
“There are submissives who need to resist to achieve that sense of security, and they’ll challenge a Dom more or less to get it. Then there are those who’ll play for the fun and novelty of it, but when you tap into the deeper levels, they simply draw away, a clear message that true submission, that craving, isn’t their thing.”
Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace Page 13