by Bryce, A. L.
Porsche weighed her options and decided wailing would be good. “I HAD TO DO IT FOR MY MOM!!!”
“Oh, honey, don’t you worry. We’re here now.”
“We can help you out until you get on your feet again. I have a trust fund, and Betty’s daddy owns a quarter of Brooklyn! Don’t you worry, Alice. We’re here for you.”
Both women squeezed Porsche tightly against them.
Porsche opened the door to her apartment and walked in. She flipped on the light but nothing happened.
They turned off my fucking power? I only missed three payments! What the…
She went into her bedroom and stripped off the borrowed jeans and T. She lay on her bed with her hands behind her head and tried to figure out how quickly she could move in with Betty and Veronica.
28
SOPHIA STOOD OUTSIDE HAPPY BETTY’S with her phone in her hand, watching the time. As the display switched from 5:29 to 5:30, she pulled open the door and walked in. She was in her black Newman dress by The Row, a clever combination of lambskin and stretch cotton, somewhat reminiscent of a scuba diving suit—the perfect cocktail dress for a dominatrix. This she’d paired with her Pierre Hardy sandals, the glitter covered circles and cutouts just right on her newly pedicured feet. Her Doctor bag, also by The Row, was the perfect authoritarian accessory too. No bra and—get this, Mrs. Pea!—no panties. She was taking a risk, but she felt ready. She was making herself wet with the thought of telling Mrs. Pea she had no panties to drop into her big old bag. What would happen?
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. She scanned the tables. No Mrs. Pea. She took a seat at the bar and ordered a vodka martini with an olive from Chance.
She sipped and felt the ice-cold vodka slide down her throat and warm her stomach.
Just relax. You practically own this bar. You didn’t get your reputation for nothing. You are a force to be reckoned with. Enjoy it. You’ve been waiting for this night for a long long time.
“You want another one, Mistress Sophia?” Was it her imagination or was Chance smirking?
“Yes, I would.”
She sipped the second martini. Her legs were crossed and she bounced her foot back and forth a bit. She thought about hanging Willow from a hook in her ceiling next time they had a session, maybe using a ball gag and a butt plug.
“Hello, dear.”
The voice marauded her from behind, crashing into her thoughts. She wasn’t ready.
“Oh!”
“Did I startle you, dear?”
“Yes, a bit. How are you, Mrs. Pea?”
“Why, dear, I’m fine. Just the other night I had one of your subs. She’s named after a car ... Mercedes or ... well, it certainly wasn’t Gremlin ... ”
“Porsche?”
“Yes! That was it, Porsche. I had that girl licking my feet the other night. Poor thing. Seems the girl will do anything for money. Pity. No standards.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“That would be lovely.” Mrs. Pea turned to Chance. “Bourbon on the rocks.”
The two women sat sipping their drinks in silence. When her drink was half gone, Mrs. Pea rose and said, “I’m going to the ladies room. Do come with me, won’t you? I promise I won’t ask you to lick my feet.”
Mrs. Pea walked through the bar to the hallway where the ladies room was located. Sophia followed, three paces behind.
The women entered the restroom and Mrs. Pea turned and studied Sophia.
“You call yourself Mistress, but aren’t you really just a juicy little sub longing for someone to teach you a lesson? I want you to take off your panties now and put them in my bag.”
Sophia reached down, took the hem of her dress in her hands, and began to lift it up. She slid it slowly over her thighs, then up higher, her bald pussy lips emerging from the tip of the cloth, then higher still, up over her flat belly, her belly button.
A woman entered the restroom, gasped at the sight of a woman with a black dress pulled up to her waist, her firm ass on display, her legs slightly opened, standing in front of an elegant elderly woman who stood with her purse open, both hands on the bag. She stifled a little squeal and ran from the restroom. This was too weird for a schoolteacher from Minnesota.
Sophia had not moved a muscle when the woman entered. She stood there, her glistening pussy presented to Mrs. Pea. She’d watched as Mrs. Pea’s eyes had widened, the only indication that she was disturbed by the interruption.
Sophia let go of the dress. It remained rumpled up around her waist. She opened her own bag and removed a short whip. In one fluid motion she stepped over to Mrs. Pea, turned her around, and roughly pushed up her skirt.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” roared Mrs. Pea.
“Disciplining you. What else? It’s what I do.”
Sophia held Mrs. Pea to the wall with her shoulder as she pushed the woman’s skirt up higher. She pulled Mrs. Pea’s panties down, ripping them a little, and then, with a yank, ripping them right off the poor, startled woman.
“You can’t do this to ME!”
“Quiet! I don’t give you permission to speak,” Sophia growled.
“This is an outrage!”
Sophia brought the whip down against the amazingly perky ass of Mrs. Pea. Once, twice, three times. Not gently. Not warm-up strokes, but strong, solid blows, the ass turning red and small welts appearing.
Sophia turned and grabbed her bag, shoving the whip in and snapping it shut. She walked out of the restroom, then quickly brought her dress back down as she strode down the hall and into the main part of the bar. She sat down and polished off her martini. She threw $50 on the bar and blew Chance a kiss. Then she walked out, hailed a taxi, and went home.
When Sophia left the ladies room at Happy Betty’s, Mrs. Pea had stood watching her leave in stunned silence. Finally, she’d stood and pushed her skirt down. She’d picked up her ripped black panties and thrown them in the garbage can.
I’m surprised she didn’t recognize those ... she gave them to me ...
Now, in the privacy of her own bathroom, Mrs. Pea removed the gray wig and wig cap and scratched her head. She popped out the gray contact lenses, looked at herself in the mirror, and winked. Finally, she sponged off the theater-quality makeup that had added the necessary years for her to become Mrs. Pea. She stepped out of the conservative Chanel suit, hung it in the guest bedroom, and placed the Cydwoq shoes there too. The wig went on its stand on the shelf and so did the big bag. She grabbed a vintage silk kimono and knotted it firmly around her slim waist.
She danced her way into the kitchen and poured herself another shot of bourbon. She slugged it back, then went to her bedroom and surveyed her ass in the mirrored closet doors.
Like three swats are going to faze me… she chuckled.
Sophia could barely get in the door before wrestling her shoes off and running down the hall to her bedroom. She threw herself on her bed and yanked the dress up once again. She shoved her fingers into herself with one hand and with the other rubbed her clit, and within seconds, she was engulfed in orgasmic bliss, her body coming up off the bed, her back arching, her breathing stopped. She fell back, nearly passed out, then started giggling uncontrollably.
29
SOPHIA SLEPT IN. She rolled to her left and right, stretching and groaning.
This is when I wished I lived with someone. What I wouldn’t do for someone to stroll in with an Americano and a toasted bagel with cream cheese.
She groaned again and got out of bed. She turned on the espresso machine. She pulled the refrigerator door open and peered inside.
“Nothing ... ”
She lifted the half-and-half carton and shook it gently.
“Just enough ... ” She let out a huge sigh.
“I should let my housekeeper do the grocery shopping.”
She made an Americano and settled into her blue mohair chair. Then she sighed and got up again, her mind suddenly racing with so many new ideas for Willow,
and maybe some other subs, that she had to go get a notepad to record them.
She thought about strapping Willow into various devices. She pondered new ways of punishing her, new locations, trying again with another sub, not Porsche, someone dedicated. She even thought about bringing in another dominatrix.
I wonder if Mrs. Pea ... she thought briefly.
She got up once again and grabbed her Mac. She cruised several websites for fetish gear and found herself fairly bored with the offerings. I have most of this crap. I want something new ... innovative. She continued to surf for over an hour, lost in handcuffs and butt plugs.
Porsche scurried down the sidewalk as fast as she could in her heels. She held tightly to the tiny piece of paper with the bar’s address scrawled on it. She yanked open the door and peered into the dimness. Loud greetings erupted across the room. Betty and Veronica were emitting high-pitched grating squeals, like pigs fighting over the trough.
“Kisses, kisses!” Porsche spouted breezily as she leaned in and pecked both girls on the lips. “Will someone please buy me a drinky drink? I am parched!”
Betty motioned for the bartender and called for three martinis. “We’ve missed you!” she said. “What’ve you been up to, sweets?”
Veronica looked Porsche up and down, resting her eyes on Porsche’s tits, her cleavage spilling out of a Jean Paul Gaultier T-shirt, a subtle camel toe in her just slightly too tight 7 For All Mankind jeans. She leaned in and nuzzled Porsche’s neck.
Porsche continued to yak away about the cost of her mother’s funeral, the stalled will. “I don’t understand all that legal mumbo jumbo, something about exparte and some other Latin stuff.”
Veronica pulled her face away from Porsche’s neck. “I thought you used to work at a law firm?”
“Yeah, I did. And I still can’t follow what’s going on with my mom’s estate. It’s that fucked up.” Porsche slugged down her martini.
Veronica and Betty exchanged a quick smile then Veronica returned to kissing and licking Porsche’s neck as Betty looked on.
One martini followed another, and soon the three were in a booth, groping and making loud obnoxious comments about the bar, other patrons, and their own friends.
“Martinis!” Porsche yelled. She held her glass up in the air and then turned it upside down, the last few drops spilling over the table.
“BARRRRRRBOY! DIDJA HEAR THAT? WE ARE DRY!” Betty bellowed.
Veronica had her head under the table and under Betty’s skirt.
The bartender approached empty handed. “I’m cutting you ladies off,” he said holding up his hands. “It’s time you headed home, or down the street.”
“NO! NO! NO! We LIKE it HERE!” Betty beat the table for emphasis.
“I can call you a cab. I can call you a friend. But you are going to have to leave.”
“You fucking A-hole.” Porsche grabbed for his hand. “Let us stay, A-hole. Come on.”
“Or, I can call the police.”
Veronica’s head banged the table as she came up. “We’re going. We’re going. We’re OUT OF HERE!” She grabbed Betty’s hand and Betty tried to grab Porsche’s but missed and sent three empty martini glasses flying across the table and onto the floor. The girls erupted in a fit of spit and giggles as they staggered toward the door.
The bartender looked at the table. The usual for Betty and Veronica ... mayhem and a wad of cash. He scooped up the bills and went to find the busboy to clean up the mess.
Porsche was sandwiched between Betty and Veronica as they staggered down the street, looking for another bar. They paused long enough to snort a little coke in an alley. After being rejected by three different bouncers, they fell into a cab and headed for home. Outside their door, Betty dropped her key three times, so finally Veronica took over and managed to get the key into the lock. Betty flew down the hall to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet, laughing and choking.
Veronica pushed Porsche up against the wall and wriggled her tongue into her mouth. Porsche responded by biting the invading tongue gently and then circling it with her own. Veronica pushed her body up against Porsche’s, mashing her into the wall. Porsche grabbed at Veronica’s shirt, pulling it up out of her leather pants, reaching up under it, and rubbing, then scratching, Veronica’s naked back. Veronica pulled away so Porsche could slide her hands up to massage her titties, taking each nipple between her thumb and first finger as she squeezed and flicked. Veronica put her hand between Porsche’s legs and pushed the denim roughly against her pussy lips.
“Ow, that hurts!” Porsche pouted. “Do it again, Ronnie.”
Veronica moved her hand in and up, then began to rub back and forth. She grabbed the back of Porsche’s neck and flung her around into the room, toward the couch.
“Get on my couch, now. I’m going to fuck you.”
“No, baby, I’m going to fuck you.”
Both of them stood, swaying, next to the couch. Veronica grabbed Porsche’s jeans, got them unbuttoned, then yanked them down Porsche’s thighs.
Betty stumbled into the room, a bottle of sparkling water in her left hand and a nine-inch maraschino cherry-red dildo in her right. She threw them both onto the couch, then went over to an end table, opened the drawer, and took out a mirror and a vial of coke. She poured a liberal line, then another, and another. Veronica and Porsche paused to take a toot.
Veronica pulled Porsche up mid-snort and slapped her ass—the jeans were still around her knees. Veronica yanked Porsche’s tiny pink G-string out of the way, bent over, and licked her asshole. Porsche bent over, struggling to get the jeans the rest of the way off and to get her ass higher in the air for Veronica.
Betty held on to the dildo and stumbled back into the kitchen. She returned with a pair of kitchen scissors and started to cut the jeans off Porsche.
“Wait! Wait, God DAMN it ... these are fucking 7 For All Mankind, Betty!”
“I’ll fucking buy you a half-dozen pairs of jeans. Shut up and let me get these off you. Oh, did I just nip you?”
Porsche held still while Betty cut her out of the jeans, then Veronica went back to licking and sucking.
Betty found a bottle of lube and slathered some on the dildo, her hand slipping up and down—schlurp schlurp schlurp. Then she poured some more lube on her hand.
“Ronnie, get out of my way. I’m gonna fuck this little prissy pot.”
Veronica gave Porsche a few more licks, shoving her tongue in and out of Porsche’s asshole, then slumped over onto the couch. Betty lurched forward and slapped her gelled-up hand against Porsche’s ass-crack. She lifted the red dildo and nestled it against the little red asterisk of Porsche’s hole. Veronica pushed herself up and grabbed Porsche’s butt cheeks pulling them apart. Betty began to gently twist and push the dildo into Porsche’s asshole.
Betty proceeded to apply pressure. Veronica kept pulling Porsche’s ass cheeks apart.
Veronica bent forward and kissed Porsche passionately.
Betty lost her balance and slipped forward slightly, plunging the dildo hard into Porsche’s asshole.
“Oh, FUCK!” Porsche tried to pull away, but Veronica held her and started laughing.
“So sorry,” Betty giggled. “My bad.”
Porsche looked back at Betty and stuck her tongue out like a brat. “Be careful, you cuntlicker.”
Betty pulled the dildo almost all the way out, but the tip stayed inside Porsche and, before Porsche could respond, she teased it back in.
Porsche felt the dildo deep inside her, felt herself opening to it. She struggled, not to get away from the dildo, but to move toward it. To move with it. To fuck it back.
“Holy shit! She’s bucking like a bronco!” Betty blurted.
“That’s our girl! That’s our girl. You’re going to be our little fuck machine, yeah? Oh, yeah, Alice. Fuck it, baby.” Veronica moved to the arm of the couch near Porsche’s head, and perched on it. She pulled Porsche’s head up and thrust her pussy into it.
30<
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PORSCHE FELT HERSELF BEING suffocated by Veronica’s cunt as she rocked her hips back and forth to take the fucking Betty dealt out. She pulled back and took a big gulp of air, then plunged herself forward to lick, nibble, and suck at Veronica’s cunt lips, loving the way they hung down and their nut-brown color.
Betty continued fucking Porsche, watching the dildo’s shaft disappear into her new lover’s lovely asshole then re-emerge, only to disappear again as Betty pushed forward and Porsche bucked backward, wanting to take it all in, wanting to swallow that dildo up her ass as her tongue licked and flicked at Veronica’s clit.
Veronica massaged her own tits, kneading and pulling on her nipples. She reached for Porsche’s head and pushed it back and forth as she felt her orgasm coming on. She returned to her nips, pinching them and vibrating them with her hands until she began to call out, “Ooooh. Oooooh. FUCKING FUCK YEAH.” Guttural sounds from deep in her belly lifted her up and sent her crashing against the insides of her own skull.
Betty thrust harder as Veronica came, and, as hoped, she felt Porsche contract and expand against the dildo as she, too, began to come. Betty could barely pull the dildo back out, it was clenched so firmly in Porsche’s ass. Porsche erupted, swearing, flinging her arms out, arching her back, quivering and quaking until she collapsed forward, knocking Veronica over the arm of the couch and onto the floor.
Betty tried to gently remove the dildo, but was finally forced to yank it out, afraid it would get stuck. Porsche moaned and muttered obscenities, but remained face forward in the couch cushions.
Betty reached down to her own pussy, but then sprinted down the hall for another round of talking to the toilet.
An hour later, Porsche was surprised to see a large gray bat flapping about the room. The bat had long fangs and pink translucent wings. All of a sudden, it landed on her! In a panic, she jerked upright and felt the bat fly against her chest. She stifled a scream and opened her eyes to find that her own hand had flopped against her. She’d been lying on top of it and it had fallen asleep. The bat in her dream was her own half-dead hand. Porsche shook it and felt the needles and pins of feeling return. She wiped her eyes with her good hand and stood up unsteadily. She walked to the bathroom to pee and found Betty slumped around the toilet. She grabbed a bath sheet and clumsily covered the girl up. Then she went to the master bath to pee, then returned to the kitchen to grab a fresh bottle of Pellegrino water. She drank nearly a quart, before stopping, and opening a loaf of French bread. She pulled off a chunk and forced it down herself. She knew if she didn’t eat something to absorb some of the alcohol, she’d be in a world of hurt tomorrow. She pulled off another hunk of bread and ate it. Then she found an apple and ate that too. She returned to the living room, and looked around, no Veronica. She padded down the hallway back to the master bedroom and found her lying on the floor on the far side of the bed. She checked to make sure she was breathing, then pulled the duvet off the bed and over her new friend. She went back to the bathroom, checked to make sure Betty was breathing too, then she went to the guest room, flopped on the bed, and fell asleep.
