by Alina Sawyer
Quietly slipping her foot free of her flip-flop, she quickly rested it firmly against His crotch, pressing noticeably, stopping short of pain but leaving very little wiggle room. It was a calculated risk, she knew; to not only interrupt Him but to be aggressive against Him. The sounds of frustrated work stopped immediately; a voice grumbled, low like an idling diesel engine.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, girl? He snarled menacingly.
"I'd think it rather obvious, Master." she retorted. "Stepping on You."
She smiled, but underneath she was anxious. This could either go really really well, or she severely miscalculated His mood, and this could go horribly bad, for her at least. She braced herself, expecting a sudden change in position. She was prepared then, when He quickly brought the foot nearest her out and up, trying to sweep her off her feet. She dodged it and quickly moved to His other side, pressing a little bit harder on His crotch to giver her better chance of prolonging the outcome of this fight. He groaned and snarled, a strangled moan rushing towards her, and she had to fight against all of her training to not immediately drop to her knees in supplicant apology. To her surprise, He scooted away from her foot, out the underside of the tractor, and suddenly she was looking into His snapping blue eyes over the engine block of the tractor. His face was dirty, smeared with grease and grit. He had a forbidding look to his handsome angled face, a jut of arrogance in His jaw. The electricity snapping in His piercing eyes made her knees weaken once again, but she gritted her jaw and thrust her face out defiantly.
"Are you looking at a beating beyond no other, girl?" He demanded, cold amusement and dangerous desire playing across His features.
"Surely You wouldn't be able to do such a thing, You must be too tired after getting nowhere on the tractor" she smirked.
"Oh, I think I can find it in me," He growled.
Before she could even frame a response, He was lifting Himself up and over the tractor's engine, meaning to squash any defiance in her to a meaningless pulp. She turned and bolted, feeling the rough callused fingers tips of His left hand skate across her bare shoulder as she launched herself away from His leap. She heard the thud of His feet hitting the ground behind her; then the air was filled with her breathing, light and rapid, and her footfalls, beating a quick staccato on the soft grass. The sound of His breathing, heavier and somehow more alive, and His steps, solid and sure in pursuit of her, quickly overcame those sounds. She jagged left, throwing a quick panicked glance over her shoulder as she adjusted her balance. He was right there behind her; His eyes alight with the effort of capturing her. She looked forward and scanned the yard, desperate to avoid the eventuality of her defeat. Spying the lilac bushes, dense and full, she dashed behind them, working herself into the thick foliage and ducking. Waiting for His footsteps to pound past, she was at a loss when He never came by. She rose up a bit on her knees, trying to see through the thicket, when a quiet, iron-clad voice whispered next to her: "Looking for me?" She screamed in surprise, and that scream was choked off short as He wrapped a strong hand around her throat and pulled her back, the other hand nesting deep in her hair. He dragged her out, and released His grip on her throat once she was forced to her knees in front of Him.
"Explain yourself, slut!" He demanded, alternately amused and infuriated with her playful rebellion. She looked up at Him, that face that could melt her heart or cause her to tremble in fear, and smiled. He looked incredulous at this smile as she whispered, her voice raw from the choking; "You needed something to distract you from the tractor, did You not?"
He stood, jaw agape for a moment, and then roared with laughter. When it was down to chuckles, He shook her firmly by her hair. "I'll show you distraction, you disobedient slut. I will be quite distracted, indeed. And I have a feeling that you will be rather...distracted...for the next week."
Her smile faded slowly as she tried to imagine the next few hours of her life. Perhaps she should have thought this through a little more? There was no more time to reflect as He dragged her by her hair, headed to the garage. She stumbled and skip-crawled along, trying to bite back the pleas for mercy as they crowded behind her lips...
The End.
Some Long Overdue Fun
"What I am looking for is some long overdue fun," thought Danielle Thorbin, as she slipped a bath robe over her one-piece swimsuit, closed her laptop, did her belt up and wondered about standing up to answer the insistent ringing at her front door. "And whoever is ringing my doorbell like that is really going to suffer for their impertinence."
"I wonder if I dawdle long enough, will they just go away?" she said to herself and stretched her arms up behind her head, before looking across the 12 metre pool towards the Greek urn on the far side. It had been hollowed out to spew cool water, refreshing the pool and giving the sense of a real living environment.
She had been absolutely delighted to have found this place with its secret garden, sunken out of sight of other properties and hidden from any overlooking view by tall, well tended bushes, shrubs and trees. The two lawns on either side of the pool were comparatively small, not much larger than the pool itself and so easily maintained.
She had a man – a Mr. Janks - come in periodically to tidy the place and clean out the pool. The occasional earthy grunts he emitted as he worked down her list of gardening requirements punctuated her thoughts occasionally as she wrote up the next stage of her treatise.
A small part of her – a very small part - wondered what Janks would be like were she to invite him to take liberties. She shook her head at the idea of his hairy masculinity bellowing his orgasms in her bedchamber. Sometimes, she had thought of him taking her in the garden, but that idea was of very short duration indeed.
To be honest she generally contented herself with smiling brightly at him, when he presented his awful poetry for her scrutiny.
"Another one," she would sigh and try not to contain her sniggers at the awful rhyming couplets that didn't quite scan and which pitted one self-indulgent metaphor against another over-used cliche. "Oh, Mr Janks, what am I to do with your efforts?"
"I couldn't rightly say miss," he would respond awkwardly head, bowed, hoping that this one would be the break through. Inevitably disappointment followed, as he watched her take out a large red felt tip, scrawl a brief comment or two; and shake her tightly curled black locks in denial of his artistic ambitions.
He liked to watch her brushing it back after she'd swum or the contrast when she had used a straightener on it and the oils that left it lush and fragrant redolent of the exoticism of her African forebears. One day he thought...one day, Miss Thorbin, my time will come.
The bell rang again bringing Danielle back to the moment. She was it seemed to be disillusioned in the hope that whoever it was would take themselves off. Grumpily, she made her way past the palms in the garden entrance and strode up the entrance steps determinedly to shoo off her unwelcome visitor.
Just as she reached for the latch the bell rang again impatiently.
"Oh go and..." the forty year old academic huffed as she opened the door and then, suddenly freeze-framed her face into the most beatific of smiles.
"Your flowers, Miss Thorbin," the young brunette with the armful of flower pots smiled back. "If you're looking for colour from mid-summer until the first frosts of autumn, dahlias are hard to beat."
"Well, well, well, this is a turn up for the books."
"Your man was most insistent on them being delivered today, miss."
"Janks was only following orders."
"Ah, I remember doing that once."
"So do I, Laura. So do I."
"But you have Mr. Janks as your acolyte now? Now that is the turn up for the books."
"Don't tease, Laura. You must know he is just my gardener."
"And I am just your florist, Miss Thorbin", Laura agreed; "though your tastes in flora as well as servant seems to have changed quite dramatically."
"Dahlias are more fashionable now."
"People still prefer bouquets or single roses."
"I want them to last: no here today gone tomorrow ephemeral blooms for me, Laura."
"You will break a poor flower girl's heart with words like that."
"I didn't know you'd changed florists, pet."
"Well, I've not been in touch much I suppose."
"It's lucky I made Janks order through your new boutique then."
"It's hardly mine. I just work there."
"Then I'm doubly lucky. Come in; come in. I really can't believe it's you, Laura."
"Did you undress in the hope that it would be me?" Laura giggled. "Where should I put these?"
"I'm just working hard. Let me take them from you. They can go by the planters at the foot of the steps for now."
Danielle relieved Laura of a couple of pots from the colourful burden, carrying them down and depositing them carefully. As she turned away, she heard Laura's teasing voice call out behind her:
"Too many late nights, miss?"
"It's the same as ever, Laura," she smiled to hear Laura use the old title as she turned round and beckoned Laura down too. She was half-pleased, half anxious to see that Laura remained standing in the entrance. Was the girl remembering her training or was she just in a hurry to leave?
"The same, miss?"
"I work hard and I play hard. Will you bring those pots down here now?"
"Yes miss; but it's been ages since we played, miss, hasn't it?"
"Yes, it has been quite a while."
"Still writing all night, then?"
"I'm pretty busy on the final part of my next treatise, actually. I can't really complain about much. My book should be out in December, and I've got a promotional tour lined up. What have you been doing besides changing jobs? Do you have time to join me in a coffee?
"I believe I have plenty of time, miss."
"Then come through. I want you to admire my new garden layout. Here sit down on the chaise-longue with me just like you used to."
"I think I used to kneel. You did all the sitting, miss, to my recollections."
"Was that so wrong of me?"
"It seemed right at the time."
"And now?"
"Would you like me to kneel, miss?"
"For old times sake?"
"No, miss."
"No?"
"No. I will kneel because I know it will please you."
"You are still a good girl," Danielle sighed, feeling the tension of unwritten paragraphs lifting from her shoulders as she watched the young woman fold her knees under her and lower herself gracefully to the stone surround to the pool. "Would you like a cushion?"
"No. I like the feel of the stone: warm and firm – resistant to change."
"Is that how you see me?"
"It is easy for me to find my place, when the place has been left open for me."
"It was always open for you, Laura," Danielle said and pressed her hand to her breast. "I may not have changed, but have you?"
"Same old, same old: the exciting life of shoe sales during the week, flowers at weekends and the occasional oral sex session to supplement the awful wages keeps me busy as ever."
"I see you are still as frank as ever, pet."
"I'm not ashamed of what I do or who I am."
"Nor should you be."
"Thank you, Miss Thorbin."
"Hey. Don't get formal with me."
"Sorry."
"I thought we were friends?"
"We were, but I've neglected you."
"We've neglected one another. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm glad you've found the time to manipulate your employer's deliveries to deliver my dahlias."
"You ordered, Danielle. I came."
"If I start ordering you again, will you come again?"
"You know that I respond well to orders, miss."
"Ah...ah...ah."
"You know I like it when you order me around, Danielle."
"That's better Laura."
"I ought to have written, didn't I?" Laura reddened a little, slightly embarrassed at her neglect.
"Me too, my love, me too: we're both busy people though."
"Though what an academic like you might want with a shop girl like me is beyond me."
"Hasn't that always been self evident, Laura?"
"A button hole for your latest honorary degree ceremony, perhaps?"
"I hope not to be wearing pants that day."
"Oh? You'll wear a skirt then?"
"No."
"Is that allowed? Won't they frown on you in your undies?" Laura grinned.
"I hope not to go to the ceremony and be sleeping in my bed. No pants or skirts allowed there." Danielle reached down and squeezed her hand meaningfully on Laura's bare thigh, just below the hem of her short skirt. "Spread your legs, pet."
"Hey, Danielle: I'm working."
"You have a lot of orders to deliver still?"
"No. I'm on lunch after you."
"Why not lunch with me, then?"
"You're hardly dressed for lunch."
"I don't need to be dressed for what I plan to munch on."
"Hey!"
"I know. I just like teasing you sometimes."
"That's always been self-evident. At least business people help me feed my face without making me blush."
"Yes, but which one of them will discuss the nuance in Plato's "Allegory of the Cave" with you."
"The 'what' of the 'which'?"
"Don't pretend ignorance, pet. You'd make a fine undergraduate."
"I didn't even know Plato had a cave, let alone one with nuances."
"See? Academics give tips: intangible tips that you can't put in the bank."
"Sorry to be so venal."
"I've really missed you because of this, Laura."
"Because I'm being venal?"
"No, silly girl: just talking to you like this. You're the only woman I've ever been able to talk to this way."
"How do you mean, miss?"
"That's a tough question to answer...but talking with you is just always fun. I have to keep my wits about me."
"I'm not that sharp am I?"
"No, but I love the soft look in your eyes when you look at me."
"I can't help loving your coffee-coloured skin, miss."
"And I'm full of caffeine, too."
"And the memory of your exotic taste," Laura reminisced.
"You can celebrate my achievement, with me."
"Why don't you celebrate at the degree ceremony?"
"There aren't any nice flower girls to celebrate with at convocations. And they can send the certificate by post."
"You should be proud of your achievement."
"I'm prouder of the fact that your panties are damp already, Laura."
"Well, with your hand doing all sorts of wicked things under my skirt, what can you expect?"
"I expect you to take your skirt off like a good girl."
Laura laughed and shook her brunette hair free of the band that had held it in place. They both turned and watched the band bounce on the stone, hesitate and then slip into the water.
"Your skirt, girl, not your accessories," Danielle smiled.
"What about your family?" Laura responded, fiddling with the buttons to her short black skirt and releasing them one by one.
"What has my family got to do with your skirt?"
"I meant for the convoca... thingy."
"My mother wants me to go through with the whole "I'm going to put you in this ridiculous get up!" ceremony, but I just can't get excited about that."
"Perhaps you should miss, if only for your mama? How often does she get the chance to show off how proud she is of you? And I want to see a picture of you in your gown too."
"You've been talking to her, haven't you?"
"I am so proud of you, miss; and I think the world should have a chance to be proud of you too."
"You're proud of me?"
"Of course - I don't have many university acquaintance
s you know, "Laura said matter-of-factly, wiggling her skirt down her hips and letting it sit around her ankles. "And no one with a doctorate: we skirtless pets tend to walk in less esteemed circles."
"It's not all it's cracked up to be."
"Do you like my crack, miss?"
"You know that I love it, you naughty camel-toed witch."
"Thank you, miss."
"Now you've lost that austere skirt, I want you to straddle my back and massage me, Laura."
"While you tell me all about the things to be found in Plato's cave, miss?"
"If you like: let me take the bathrobe off and lie on my tummy," Danielle agreed. "Okay, are you listening...so there are these men, right? And they're chained to a wall, right? And it's all dark except for a fire and...mmmmh – oh that's lovely."
"And may I kiss your neck, miss; and spread these fingers and touch your deliciously scented caramel skin."
"Mmm, you may, pet."
Danielle moaned again as Laura bit her lovingly on the soft flesh next to the shoulder blade. Well it was more pink lips embracing the warm dark flesh than biting, but it served, as did the dark brown hair, that slid over Laura's face when she undid her hair band and began to tickle the back of Danielle's neck and then her upper back, right down to where the black costume ended.
"Put some lotion on me, Laura."
"It's as if you were waiting for me, miss," Laura smiled as she looked down and reached across to pick up a bottle of massage lotion from the low table next to the chaise-longue.
"I do love the contrast between us, Laura."
"My little red knickers and your black costume miss? Or is it the way my ivory thighs, contrasting with the chocolate flesh of your near naked form? Or would it be the dryness of your suit and the wetness of my panties?"
"You're amazing Laura. You know that, right?"
"How do you reach that conclusion?"
"Because you can get me from dry to dripping in less than a minute."
"Should I get off you so you can get off on me then?" Laura grinned.
"Whichever you'd prefer, you crude child..."
"Well, I was thinking about tugging your swimsuit down with my teeth."
"That's certainly doable!"
"And letting my lovely pink tits graze the curve of your beautiful brown bottom cheeks."