Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace

by Hill, Joey W.

  “Are you getting something you want out of this relationship?” Lyda asked, her face that cool mask.

  “Yes.”

  “Then what the hell does it matter, how I feel? You were quick enough to turn to Noah the other night, rather than both of us. I touched your back and you flinched. Shrank toward him. He was all you wanted.”

  Gen stared at her as Lyda turned away, found a brush in her bag and began to work on her hair.

  She was right. At the time, Gen had focused only on visceral reactions, but Noah had recognized it. He’d even tried to mitigate the damage, but Lyda had shut him down so quickly, charging him to care for Gen.

  She’d hurt Lyda’s feelings. Plain and simple. Gen had been gripped by that odd sadness, assuming Lyda didn’t want to do aftercare, but she hadn’t given her a chance to prove otherwise. Maybe the Dom needed the intimacy that aftercare provided as much as the sub. But she’d only let Lyda in for the sex part.

  God, she was a self-absorbed idiot. Gen stayed so focused on not taking advantage of Noah, because it seemed so easy to take advantage to him. In reality, it might be more of a danger with Lyda, because she seemed so invulnerable, so in control.

  Drawing on her courage, she stepped forward. “I didn’t touch Noah last night. Not that way. I felt like something was wrong between you and me. That mattered. I couldn’t enjoy him if things weren’t right between all of us. You’re one of the most self-confident, self-aware women I’ve ever met.”

  Since they both knew Marguerite, that was saying a lot. “I don’t know if that makes me hate you, want to be more like you or just flat out makes me feel…less. I’m sorry, Lyda. You deserved better from me. Especially after you…I’ve never felt anything like what you make me feel, you and Noah. Separately, together.” She gave a desperate half-laugh. “Noah said you understood how it was for someone figuring it all out. There are times I get swept away in…submitting to you, but I’m not sure that makes me a submissive. I don’t know how to make it all make sense, and I feel like I’m making a fool of myself over you both. I’m not sure what to do with it. But I shouldn’t have hurt you like that.”

  Gen shook her head. “You always seem so in control. Even when you’re scary, which is most of the time, it feels like you’re on top of things. You’re right, I’ve felt safe with M, because of that. She gives me a place to retreat when I need it, a place that’s steady, an anchor. But when I’m in that same kind of place with you, it’s different. I never want to leave at all. It’s home and the destination, all rolled up in one.”

  Lyda had set aside the brush and turned back toward her. As Gen’s words died away in the echo of the tiled room, Lyda studied her long enough Gen wanted to squirm, to disappear. But then she extended a hand. “Come here.”

  Gen took the hand. When Lyda pulled Gen close, just like that, things were better. As her arm wrapped over Gen’s shoulders, Gen pressed her face against the side of Lyda’s, her nose against the moist hair line, inhaling the clean smell of Lyda and soap. Gen let out a shuddering sigh and slid both arms under Lyda’s, around her bare back. Her breasts pressed against Gen’s, Lyda’s puckered nipples noticeable through Gen’s thin shirt. It was still a new feeling for her, hugging a woman and getting aroused by that contact, but with Lyda, it was a feeling easy to enjoy.

  “I’m so sorry,” Gen said.

  “Forgiven,” Lyda said quietly. She pressed a kiss to Gen’s temple, spoke against it, no eye contact between them. “You affect me, Gen. And you are not less.” She drew back to lock Gen in that penetrating gaze. “You’re far more than you realize. You wouldn’t have captured my attention otherwise.”

  Before Gen could respond to that, Lyda tangled her hand in her hair, holding her in place in that way that made things tight inside Gen’s stomach. “Some of the strongest women I know enjoy submission during sex, because through surrender, they find themselves again. The confidence, the strength, the belief in their own beauty they lost during the day-to-day grind. But I’m done talking about that right now. You’ve been staring at my tits like a hungry baby, and you’re going to pay for that.”

  Pushing Gen back, Lyda moved away. She locked both doors, then went to the bench in front of the lockers. She took a seat and dropped a folded towel she’d brought with her on the floor between her spread knees. “Kneel here.”

  In the right setting and circumstances, all Lyda had to do was use that tone, and Gen responded. Accepting that amazing idea, Gen knelt on the towel, a kindness to her knees against the concrete floor. Lyda’s cruelty was planned, never neglectful. Something to think about, because it was probably the reason Gen found her ruthlessness so addictive.

  In this position, Lyda’s naked breasts were close to Gen’s eye level. As she watched, Lyda cupped and fondled them. Gen moistened her lips, her breath shortening.

  “I can see this getting you hotter, Gen. Do you want to suck on my nipples?”

  Gen nodded. Then jumped as Lyda, quick as a striking snake, slapped her face. A controlled strike, hard enough to snap Gen’s head to the right and make her wide-eyed. Yet the woman remained as self-possessed as ever as she returned that offending hand back to the enviable task of stroking her own breasts.

  “You don’t nod or shake your head to me, Gen, like I’m your equal. Not right now. Now let me ask again. Do you want to suck on my nipples?”

  She’d just told herself she found Lyda’s cruelty arousing, but the direct evidence of it still startled her. The heat of her handprint flowed straight down Gen’s body like a lava burn. Her Mistress had forgiven her and administered a short, sharp punishment. Balance was a key that unlocked desire.

  “Yes Mistress.” Gen suppressed the desire to put her hand up to her burning cheek. Lyda did it instead, running her fingers along the reddened skin.

  “Did Noah put anything on those stripes I left on your back and ass last night?”

  “No, ma’am. I did, though.”

  “He was charged with your aftercare. You’ll permit him to do whatever I tell him to do to you in the future, because my orders to him trump yours. Your care, his care, are my responsibility. Always. Understand? You’re not the alpha in this pack, Gen.”

  “Yes Mistress.” But she wasn’t docile, either. She inched forward on the towel, gazing at those beautiful breasts, so close they had saliva was pooling in her mouth. “Can you come, just from having your nipples sucked?”

  Lyda lifted an indifferent brow, but Gen was starting to learn, and enjoy, this game. “Perhaps. Do you want the privilege of giving your Mistress an orgasm, Gen?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Ma’am. I like that.” Lyda braced her arms behind her on the bench, then shifted one foot, giving Gen a light thump against the side of her buttock with her thick-soled shoes. “Suck on my breasts, Gen. Let me see how much pleasure a woman’s mouth can give me. You have some stiff competition. Noah is very good at this.”

  “He has the tongue stud,” Gen muttered. Lyda chuckled grimly.

  “With or without, the man’s mouth is blessed by the gods. Now shut up and get to it, before I take a wet towel to that pretty ass.”

  As Gen moved forward, Lyda slid her hand under her hair, curving around Gen’s nape. Gen parted her lips over one ripe nipple. She couldn’t resist cupping the full curve, squeezing the firm flesh to push the nipple deeper into her mouth. Lyda’s fingernails cut into her skin, encouraging her to take it deeper. She slid closer, arm banding around Lyda’s back, fingertips whispering down that sweet valley. So delicate and strong. So beautiful. Lyda unclipped the barrette in Gen’s hair, spilling it onto her shoulders. Her Mistress loved her hair, fingers delving into it, pulling.

  When Lyda’s head tipped back on her shoulders, pushing her breast even further into Gen’s mouth, she made a greedy sound in the back of her throat, encouraging her. She was giving her pleasure, and it felt so, so good. Gen slid her thumb beneath the waistband of Lyda’s shorts, stroked the dimples just above her ass. Lyda curved a
leg around Gen, resting her calf on Gen’s backside. Both her arms twined over Gen’s shoulders, her thighs pressed against Gen’s sides.

  “My sweet, lovely girl. Mine.”

  Gen shivered at the praise. She moved off that nipple, clasped both breasts, holding them together and tonguing the channel of cleavage before taking the other nipple in her mouth and working on making it as tight a point as the other, glistening with the juices from her mouth. She wanted all of it, wanted her mouth everywhere, so she took time to run her tongue over the areola, trace the shape of the full curve. She even pressed her face to the outer curve, inhaling the lingering aroma of Lyda’s sweat, the female animal smell of her. She wanted to burrow her face in between her legs, get a taste of the same. Would Lyda let her do that?

  When she tried to go in that direction, her hair was pulled sharply, and she was brought back up to Lyda’s breasts. Lyda caught her chin, squeezed it.

  “You haven’t earned eating my pussy, Gen. You promised me an orgasm from sucking my nipples alone. Unless you’re bored…?”

  “No Mistress,” she said fervently, and returned to suckling, getting more and more aroused as Lyda’s breath rate increased, her body arching, her hips starting to move in a coital rhythm, thighs flexing and releasing against Gen’s hips. She was rubbing herself against Gen’s upper body, and it drove Gen to even crazier rhythms, more insistent and wild. Suckle, bite, draw deep, lick, rub her face between Lyda’s breasts, let her tongue and lips go everywhere as her Mistress’s body movements became faster. Gen had both her hands inside the shorts, was gripping Lyda’s ass, kneading the lovely curves to help her move against her, find that orgasm she’d promised.

  “Un-unh.” In one abrupt move, Lyda shifted off the bench, taking Gen to the floor, full out beneath her. She pressed her knees on either side of Gen’s hips, pinning her there, her upper body still above Gen’s face. She forced Gen’s arms above her head, then kept them there with a look.

  “Keep sucking my tits, Gen.”

  Gravity could be a wonderful thing, because now as she squeezed and licked, the breasts moved against her face with Lyda’s response. Gen moaned as Lyda pushed up her skirt and Lyda slid her mound over her own, a nice firm rub of clit against clit, even under panties and exercise shorts.

  “You don’t get to come,” Lyda said, dark intent in her voice. “Only me. I’m going to keep you hot and wet, because that’s the state I want you to suffer, all day today.”

  She wasn’t sure how she was going to obey, because as Lyda worked against her, as goal-oriented as she’d been during her workouts, Gen’s pussy was getting ready to go. Then Lyda’s fingers closed over her throat. She lifted her upper body, those breasts quivering before Gen, out of range of her mouth. Lyda’s grip tightened, restricting Gen’s air flow enough it pulled her attention away from them.

  “You feel. Feel my orgasm and deny your own.”

  Cruel, as she’d said. But Gen obeyed. Lyda’s pubic bone, the distinctive bud of her clit, rubbed against Gen’s with the friction of flammable things. Her pussy tingled, waves rushing over it. She ached to climax, wanted to go over so badly…

  Lyda started to come, her fingers flexing on Gen’s throat, holding her down, using Gen’s body to bring pleasure to her own. Her nipples were in tight points, because Gen’s mouth had caused that. Gen had also caused her climax. Gen held onto that, fought to contain her own to further please her Mistress.

  It was as Noah had said. There was a difference between when Lyda wanted to force Gen to lose control and when she wanted to drive her to the edge of insanity to prove her control over her.

  Gen reveled in the uncontrolled surges of that strong, lithe body, the way Lyda pressed herself hard against Gen at the end, so hard Gen could feel Lyda’s pussy pulsing with the last vestiges of her release. Her hands were above her head where Lyda had pushed them, fingers opening and closing helplessly, her body open to whatever Lyda wanted from it, a tight bow string.

  Lyda slid back, yanking Gen’s legs up to her shoulders. Her ass left the ground as Lyda gripped both buttocks and pushed her face between Gen’s thighs. She stopped just short of putting her mouth on her pussy, but Gen could feel her breath there, her face obscured by the bunched folds of her knit skirt. Lyda drew in a shuddering breath, inhaling her arousal, and Gen let out a pleading mewl. Lyda pressed her lips to her labia, suckled, a small taste, a lick or two, just sampling. Gen bit back on a scream, her hands tight fists. A bated, excruciating moment later, Lyda lowered her back to the floor, her hands gripping Gen high on the thighs underneath the skirt.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Gen did, though she knew they had to be glazed. She was panting. Every part of her was swollen, tight, needy. How was she going to function at work like this?

  Lyda shifted from her knees to the balls of her feet, then rose. Staring down at Gen, her Mistress seemed to be branding every inch of her with her eyes. Gen saw herself as Lyda must be seeing her, skirt rucked up her thighs, her own nipples taut points against her thin bra and shirt. Lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes wild.

  Reaching down at last, Lyda clasped Gen’s hand and pulled her to her feet. Gen swayed, but Lyda steadied her, cupping her ass with a proprietary hand as she held onto the side of Gen’s neck with the other.

  “Breathe deep. Steady. Get it under control. It all belongs to your Mistress, so you’re going to learn how to bottle it, uncap it when I say. Eventually, you’ll come from a simple one-word command from my lips.”

  Gen believed it. She had one hand latched in Lyda’s waistband, thumb frenetically stroking a small couple inches of skin above it. When she touched her navel, Gen dropped her gaze to that. It was beautiful, like all of Lyda. A delicate indentation she’d like to tease with her tongue, a precursor to moving down to a lower orifice. She swayed again.

  “Breathe.”

  It was helping. Her body was still throbbing, but she didn’t feel like whining like a puppy for a treat. Not quite as much.

  Lyda pushed her down on the bench. “Legs spread. Assume that position you did on the chair out there, trying to distract me.”

  “I was trying to please you.”

  Lyda made a noncommittal sound. Turning away to her locker, she left Gen complying with the order as she pulled out a silver gray blouse and lacy black bra. She shimmied out of the shorts, revealing her pert bottom in a black thong that eliminated panty lines beneath the tailored miniskirt she donned. Dropping a pair of shiny black pumps with silver trim on the floor, she slid her feet into them. No hose, but her legs didn’t need them. The silver blouse’s silky folds etched out her upper body.

  “A little fancy for the nursery.”

  “I have a client meet this morning. He wants me to design the landscaping for the estate he’s building. If I get it, it will be a big account.”

  “I can’t imagine you not getting whatever you want.”

  Lyda closed the locker, giving her a warm look. Moving back to the mirror and retrieving her brush, she brushed out the thick strands in a rippling wave that completed the professional, mouthwateringly sexy look. Gen’s vibrant memory and throbbing pussy was the only evidence that a few moments before Lyda had been in the grips of an orgasm, her cunt pressed against Gen, her breasts in her mouth, the nipples and creamy flesh a pure dessert-before-meal pleasure.

  Gen trembled. Holding her legs open kept the swollen flesh from being compressed in a dangerous way, but being spread for her Mistress like this came with a psychological stimulation stronger than an actual touch.

  “So what did you think of the class? There’s always room for one more.”

  “Sorry. I gave up my childhood dream of joining the SEALs. But if you start to offer ten-minute cookie breaks in the middle and have a chiropractor standing by…”

  Lyda’s lips twisted. “So if you had to choose between my whip or my class?”

  “The whip. Definitely.”

  “Couch potato.”

  “Exercise nazi.”<
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  Lyda laughed outright at that. Gen’s heart tilted. She’d never flirted with a woman before. “I’d like to ask you something.”

  “I don’t promise answers.”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “No,” Lyda answered. “Came close once. But he wasn’t strong enough.”

  “Will anyone ever be?”

  “It doesn’t matter. My priorities changed.” Putting her brush in her bag, Lyda sat it next to Gen and shifted behind her. She held Gen’s barrette between her lips as she combed her fingers through Gen’s hair, pulling it back into a smooth twist she clipped against Gen’s neck. “I want you to keep your hair up in public except when I’m with you. You take it down only for me.”

  “I mostly have to keep it tied back anyway. It gets into everything.”

  It was something to say, covering the fluttery reaction the possessive command elicited.

  “Tell me about it.” Lyda brushed back a lock of her own lustrous mane. “This mess stays pulled back for everything but client meetings. Else I’m snagging it in vegetation all day long.”

  “Not just for client meetings.” Gen remembered it curtaining her face as Lyda leaned over her in her bedroom. Twisting her upper body, she reached up, wanting to twine fingers in the curls tumbling over Lyda’s silk-clad shoulder. Lyda intercepted her, clasping her wrist. “Please,” Gen said. “I like touching it. I like touching you.”

  In her past relationships, Gen hadn’t used such a direct communication style, but maybe she was learning from Lyda. She was also learning what aroused Lyda. Her gaze flickered, her mouth softening. She loosened her hold, sliding down Gen’s forearm in a caress as Gen stroked the red locks. “This is your actual color.”

  “Mostly. I tone it up, turn auburn into flame for dramatic effect.” Lyda smiled, the effect like sunlight. Gen wanted to bask in it like a lazy cat on a porch, soak it into every part of her.

  “I’m feeling too much for the both of you.”