by Bryce, A. L.
“Make me come hard.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Willow murmured against Sophia’s cunt lips.
Sophia felt Willow’s tongue on her lips, inside her, around her clit, licking just to the left then just to the right of her clit, driving her insane. Lick the clit, lick the clit, lick the clit! Willow continued meandering around Sophia’s clit, getting nearer with each pass, but never touching that glorious little knob. Her hands worked Sophia’s lips, tugging and massaging them, pushing them open and shut.
Sophia was being driven to distraction. She couldn’t believe it, but she didn’t think she could take much more.
Then she caved. “Now. Please your mistress, now.”
Willow obeyed—and, laying her tongue flat, lapped at Sophia’s clit once, twice, and with the third swipe felt her mistress rise up off the bed and convulse against her. Sophia jammed Willow’s head deeper into her pussy, cutting off oxygen to the girl as the waves flung her forward over and over again. Finally she fell back spent.
After a long moment, Sophia murmured, “Make me a martini.”
“Yes, Mistress!” Willow bounced off the bed and headed for the bar.
Sophia took a sip and then a swallow. “Nice.”
Willow beamed.
“Bring me the box on top of that dresser.”
Willow retrieved the box and brought it to Sophia, then she knelt down next to the bed.
“Take off your boots. These are for you.”
Willow took off her suede boots and took the box from Sophia. She opened the lid and swooned when she saw the lovely red ballerina fetish shoes.
22
WILLOW LAY FACE-UP on the bed, once more in the spreader bar, and now with her new shoes on. The shoes had a nine-inch tall heel so the wearer was constantly pitched forward. Willow had to have her mistress assist her with walking in the new shoes. She would practice later at home, the trick was to stay only on the tips of your toes, no mean feat, but Willow was determined to master the technique so she could further please Mistress Sophia.
She was strapped in, her ankles three feet apart, her spanking skirt crumpled on the floor. Her arms were tied together over her head to the bed frame. She still wore the latex bra, her nips, jutting forth, imprisoned by the clips. Mistress Sophia took the little stick of the right nipple clamp and sucked slowly, the clamp tightening further on Willow’s already sore nipple. Unable to hold back, she cried out, “Oh, Mistress! Please loosen the clamp! Oh, please! I can’t take it!” Sophia tapped the nipple gently, sending a wave of pain through Willow’s body, then she released it slightly, and then a bit more. She did the same with the other nipple, first increasing the pain, then reeling back. There was no sense in causing too much pain this early in the evening. Willow sighed with relief—and just a bit of disappointment. Her nipples throbbed, but a small part of her wished the clamps had been left on, and left on tight, maybe even tighter still. She wanted her titties to be bitten into. She pictured them black-and-blue, and her pussy pulsed with the thought.
Mistress Sophia stood at the end of the bed with a long suede whip in her hands. She tapped the whip against her palm and then began to tease it down Willow’s body from the top of her head, across her face and opened mouth, down her long white neck, slithering all over those beautiful breasts with the now angry red nipples, down her belly and finally pulled down between her legs onto her pussy. Then again. And again. Each pass made with just a hair more pressure. The tension built in Willow.
Do it already! Whip me! Flail that thing!
Another pass of the whip, still gentle, following the same path, touching her eyes, pausing at her lips—her mouth opening to taste the suede—down her neck over her breasts, her sore nipples feeling the sting as the suede slithered over them, down her belly and finally, finally against her soft cunt. Oh, sweet torture!
Willow didn’t move. She knew one twitch, one move toward the whip would mean Mistress Sophia would walk away, walk out of the room, and come back only when she felt Willow had learned her lesson. Willow toyed with the idea ... get punished by having Mistress Sophia stop or get punished by having her continue?
Sophia teased the whip across Willow a few more times, then she began to slowly whip the girl across her tits. Willow moaned with pleasure. Without thinking, she raised up, the better to feel the whip, and Mistress Sophia stopped and, just as Willow had known she would, strode out of the room.
Willow lay with her head lolling to one side then the other. Her nipples were on fire and she could see how the clamps had bitten into the tender flesh. Her pussy quivered. Having Mistress leave her like this was almost as exciting as having her here.
Sophia read three pages of The Corpse on the Dike by Janwillem van de Wetering. She’d read all his books before, but every few years went back and reread them. She loved his characters and hadn’t found anyone to replace him. After three pages, she got up, replaced the lace mask, and walked back into the bedroom.
Willow’s pussy was drenched.
Sophia undid the spreader bar and tied Willow’s feet together with a silk tie.
“Turn the lower half of your body to the side but keep your back against the bed, I want access to those tits.”
Willow did as commanded. Now Sophia could play with Willow’s ass and cunt as she wished. First, Willow received a light beating with the whip—twenty well placed strokes that pinked up Willow’s alabaster skin beautifully. Then Sophia turned the whip around and ran the handle into the V of Willow’s thighs.
“Press your thighs together.”
The handle of the whip corkscrewed in and out from between Willow’s thighs, making her burn with pleasure. Sophia pushed a little harder and a little deeper with each stroke, separating the pussy lips with each pass, brushing against Willow’s clit roughly.
Sophia went to her cabinet and pulled out a lambskin hood. She placed it over Willow’s head. Willow felt Mistress Sophia’s hands on her body, rubbing roughly along the entire length of her, slapping her breasts around, pulling her ass cheeks apart, a hand mashing at her pussy, fingers tugging the lips down hard then releasing, her clit being thumped. She continued to press her thighs together as ordered so Sophia’s hand had to push in aggressively to gain admission. Willow was over the moon with joy.
Sophia untied her feet and ordered Willow to lie on her back and extend her legs straight up and out, admiring the look of the red ballerina shoes at the end of Willow’s slender ankles. She pushed her hand into Willow’s crotch, her pointer and middle fingers scissoring Willow’s swollen lips, pushing them away from her beautiful clit. Then she bent down and gently bit Willow’s clit once, twice ... Willow exploded like fireworks.
Sophia left her there—Willow’s legs still extended in the air—and finished the first chapter of The Corpse on the Dike.
She returned, pulled the hood off Willow, and told her she could bring her legs down. Then she took off the ballerina shoes and had Willow sit up so that she could take the latex bra off. She took off her leather gloves and slapped them against Willow’s breasts, had the girl lie over her knees and spanked her with the gloves, alternately caressing and biting her ass in between smacks. Then she pushed the girl off her lap onto the floor and told her to kneel there. Sophia took off her lace mask and heels. She stood up and ordered Willow to crawl to her. When Willow was directly in front of her, Sophia turned around and waited. Willow stood and began to untie Sophia’s corset. Freed from the corset, Sophia walked back over to the bed and looked down at it. Wet spots where Willow had juiced the sheets were everywhere.
“Strip the bed and wash the sheets. Bring me a martini in the guest room and then leave me undisturbed. Take a shower, you stink of your own pussy.”
Sophia went to the guest room and pulled back the duvet. She flopped down on her back and soon Willow appeared wordlessly with the martini. Sophia sipped, her left hand lazily caressing her own nipples and pussy. It had been a long time since Sophia had gotten a Brazilian, but she’d wanted to su
rprise Willow. She stroked, enjoying the strange feeling of bald skin. I might do this more often. She tweaked her nipples lightly and mashed her lips around with the palm of her hand. The heel of her palm found her clit and rubbed vigorously. She felt her body responding, she rubbed harder and began moaning and grunting. Ohohohoooohhhhh. Her hips jerked against the palm of her hand, her clit connecting over and over until she felt herself reaching the pinnacle and rolling—no crashing—down the other side. That’s right ... that’s riiiiiggghhtttt, that is sooooo righhhhhhhuuh. She used the sheet to dab up the martini that had sloshed out of the glass, took a sip, then poured the remaining martini over her breasts and pussy. Then she fell asleep.
Willow gritted her teeth as the water hit her nipples. Poor things! You really took a beating tonight, huh? Willow touched one nip and winced. How was she going to wear a bra? How was she going to wear anything? Then she turned her body so the spray would hit her ass. She looked over her shoulder at it: pink and a few mottled welts from the sandpapery side of the paddle. Nice! She knew she’d be rubbing those welts over the next few days while she played with herself reliving tonight’s session. Would she be able to obey Mistress Sophia’s commandment not to come?
Not bloody likely.
After the shower, not knowing what else to do, Willow knelt down next to the bed and waited for the sheets to come out of the dryer.
Sophia opened her eyes and felt her sticky skin. Oh, the martini. How dramatic! She got up and went into the bedroom. Willow was on her knees leaning against the edge of the bed, fast asleep. The bed was unmade, but the toys had been cleaned and put away.
Sophia left her there and went to take a shower. Wrapped in a light blue silk bathrobe, she passed Willow once more and chuckled.
“Willow?”
Willow sprang up like a jack-in-the-box. “Wha ... uh ... YES ... Yes, Mistress Sophia!”
“You were to leave at 5 A.M. It’s 6:15 ... ”
“Mistress! I ... I’m so ashamed!”
“No, I wasn’t clear with my final orders last night. You’re not to blame, but don’t worry, I’ll punish you anyway.”
Sophia went over to the cabinet and took out a black box Willow had never seen before. Sophia placed it on the bed and opened it up. She pulled out a metal and leather contraption. Sophia dropped it onto the bed.
“Are you mine?”
“Yes, Mistress! Always!”
“Always? Really?”
Willow felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.
“You fucked Porsche.”
Not a question, a statement. How had she known?
“Yes, Mistress, I ... had a moment of weakness and I ... ”
“That’s out of your system now? You won’t be having any moments of weakness again—and that includes diddling yourself after our sessions?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Put it on.” Sophia motioned toward the contraption on the bed.
Willow picked the thing up and held it out. Then it became clear what it was.
Oh, my God. She got me a chastity belt. Cool!
It was a beautiful device, a sleek black leather base with a thin stainless steel overlay, simple in design—three wings—two to fit around the waist and the third placed between the legs, this wing to be brought up to clamp onto the other two, and then the whole thing locked into position. Highly effective.
Willow struggled with the belt, having trouble keeping the straps around her waist, wiggling her ass to get the device up high enough, tugging it into place, snug against her pussy and ass crack. Sophia took over, placing her hands gently against the leather and metal, smoothing it into place, pulling the straps around Willow’s waist and clamping the waist flaps into place. She placed her fingers on Willow’s thighs and tried to force her fingers up under the chastity belt. Finding that she could, she repositioned the waist flaps, and fastened it more tightly. Sophia checked it again and, unable to penetrate the black leather, she took a small lock out of the box, locked the belt, and threw the key onto her dresser.
Guess that answers my question about masturbation.
“Go now. Be back at midnight so I can supervise your bath.”
“Mistress ... may I speak?”
“No.”
Willow gathered her clothes together, wrapping the ballerina shoes in the center of the stack, and slipped into her coat and boots. She could feel the weight of the belt around her and wondered how she’d get any work done at the law firm when she’d be in a constant state of arousal.
Sophia shut the door behind her and locked it. She decided to treat herself to breakfast out and grabbed the phone. She pressed the Eagle on her Fave 5’s.
23
“HOWDY STRANGER!”
“Edna! How are you?”
“Couldn’t be better. Business is booming. Both businesses! Remember those gals from Jersey? They’ve turned all of their friends on to me. We do phone chats, they send money to my PayPal account, and I let them talk to dead people. It is such a win-win! Oh, and, drum roll, please. I met someone!”
“Who?”
“One of my Jersey girls.”
“No way.”
“Way. And get this, she likes it with me, untranced Edna, but she super likes it with in-a-trance Madame Unjeu!”
Both women burst into giggles.
Anyway, Soph, that’s what’s up with me. And you?”
“I had a simply divine session with Willow, who, in just a few hours, will be walking around the court room in a chastity belt!”
“Excellent!”
“She’s really coming along nicely. I tried another girl, but she didn’t work out too well. She responded to being a sub, but I think she’s more of a switch hitter.”
“Oh, a domi sub? Multi-talented type, hmmm?”
Edna was no stranger to BDSM. In her younger days, she’d attended quite a few private parties. Multi-talented herself, she’d S one night, and M the next. Now, she tended more toward a vanilla sex life, but if the right person came along, who knew?
“She thinks she is. She’s got a long way to go before she’s a proper sub or a proper domme though. Plus, she started fucking Willow.”
“WHAT?”
“Yep, sure did. Willow ended it, it’s fine.” Sophia’s voice quavered slightly. “You know these young girls, not as focused as we were at that age. Willow had to stray a bit to know where her real path lies. She found it.”
“Good for her.”
“So, how busy are you? I was thinking a little spa trip and then lunch and maybe some shopping.”
“Oh, I’d love to doll, but I am up to my eyeballs in clients right now ... in both endeavors. I really have to cut back on the Madame Unjeu gig. Either that or retire from my real job and become a full time woo woo queen. Can I take a rain check? Get with you in a week or so?”
“No problem. Give me a call when you resurface.”
“OK, Soph. Take care.”
Sophia hung up and pursed her lips. Well, poop. She’d really wanted to spend the day with Edna, getting pampered and chatting the day away. Tommy wasn’t good for this kind of thing and, other than Edna and Tommy, Sophia didn’t have any really close friends.
Sophia picked up the phone and called the spa. She’d just have to go by herself.
She got out of the cab in front of the Mandarin Oriental. She’d booked the half-day treatment and was looking forward to zoning out for a few hours while her body got massaged and her face got facialed.
The massage therapist was a chatty little trollop and after five minutes Sophia had to fire her and have her send in another therapist. The second one was more experienced and kept her mouth shut so Sophia could relax.
The facial was great. She looked and felt ten years younger.
Next, it was time for lunch and maybe a little shopping spree. The shopping presented a dilemma. She already had a drawerful of underwear she hadn’t worn yet, clothing hanging in her closets with the tags still dangling from them, and
the same for purses, and a slew of shoes she’d only worn once or twice. Her kitchen was outfitted with all the usual gadgets and a few unusual ones. Her living room and dining room were tasteful with a nice mix of contemporary and vintage. Her pantry was stuffed with goodies. There was really nothing she needed, and to her dismay, she discovered there was nothing she wanted either. She was satiated. How boring.
She decided to lunch at Monsieur Sushi. It was quick and tasty, and, at this time of day, it would be quiet. She could eat in peace. She hailed a cab and gave the address for the nearest Monsieur Sushi. The driver deposited her at the front door and she tipped him well. She was wearing her Stuart Weitzman five-inch, Time, patent leather pumps. Not the kind of thing she wanted to walk a few city blocks in.
She threw open the door and strode in. There at the counter, decked out in a steel-blue sheath, was Mrs. Pea.
Mrs. Pea looked at Sophia, then lifted a morsel of sashimi to her mouth, opened wide, and laid the raw fish on her tongue. Her eyes never left Sophia’s. Sophia couldn’t move. She stood just inside the door and she could not move. The door opened and a young couple pushed past her and took a small table near the back. Mrs. Pea raised another piece of fish to her mouth and repeated her previous gesture.
