Coming Together With Pride

by Alessia Brio, J Buchanan, Lisabet Sarai

  "Alright boy, here we go,” I whispered. Sage turned one ear backward, game for anything.

  I watched as Gina slid a bill beneath her jeaned thigh. I could practically feel the heat coming off of her and Darlin'. I could, if I squinted a little, imagine that I was that piece of paper going under Gina's leg.

  Gina saw me watching, and she winked. Then she dropped her hand into her crotch and cupped it there, like it was just an innocent movement. Like she was reaching to touch Darlin's back. No one would even think twice about that. No one but me. All I could think of was her in the back of my pickup a few years ago, back arched, fingers digging into her lips, legs wider and wider. The shine of her pale skin under the stars ... Me just watching ... Unable to move until she finally, finally said my name, pulled me to her, with her fingers sticky and wet on my skin.

  Sage lurched under me, and I realized we'd started. I squeezed my legs against his sides and kept my eye on the back of Gina's braid.

  "Trot!” yelled the judge, and the circle stepped up. Sage had more of a rock than a trot, and I focused on just moving my body with his, hips forward and back, forward and back. It could have been Gina below me, me on top, one hand inside her, taking her backward and forward, rocking.

  A few horses ahead of me, a bill fluttered through the air, and a man astride a dappled gelding moved to the inside. The rest of us kept going. Round and round. Canter. A hard gallop. Back to walk. Trot. Fivers fluttered down every couple of turns around the ring. The group of riders in the middle of the ring grew. Maybe thirty or forty bucks were on the ground now.

  Ahead of me, Darlin's footsteps quickened. “Shit,” Gina said as the bill fluttered from beneath her thigh. I watched the paper fall. Gina gave me a smile, no teeth, and ducked her head. The judge motioned for her to ride Darlin’ into the middle. She headed that way, and then, quickly turned Darlin's head toward the gate instead. I watch as Gina talked to the man at the gate, her hands waving in the air. He shook his head. Leaving in the middle of a class wasn't allowed; I knew if she went through the gate, she could forfeit her right to compete in the future.

  Sage and I went around the ring again. I held my breath, tightened my legs around Sage so hard that he tried to speed up beneath me. Then Gina slid off Darlin's back and opened the gate herself. She led Darlin’ through, not looking back.

  In front of us, another bill fluttered. Another horse went to the inside, but I barely noticed. I was watching Gina's back, so tiny next to Darlin's hind-end, walking away. I'd seen her walk away so many times—at the end of each show. I'd never stopped her. And now maybe she was going for good.

  The judge had us slow to a walk. My heart kept moving. I could barely feel Sage beneath me for all the thumping up in my throat. I lifted my thigh just a little. The fiver under it stuck for a moment. Sweaty.

  I gave it a shove with my finger until it fell onto the ground. The judge gave me a curt nod. I felt the others waiting for me in the middle. Instead, I followed Gina's vanished back as if by radar, through the still-open gate and down toward the place I had last seen her.

  Gina was cooling off Darlin’ behind the barn by the time I found her.

  "You all right?” I asked.

  "I will be,” she said.

  Gina gave me that damned smile again, those little dimples on each side, her teeth sticking out just a bit. I always got the insane urge to lick them.

  "That was about the fastest win I've ever seen,” she said.

  I slid off Sage's back. Started walking him out beside her, as close as I could get to her without Darlin’ freaking. My nipples were tight beneath my shirt, moving toward her, already begging for her touch.

  "There are still half a dozen idiots back there, duking it out over a fistful of paper,” I said. “I couldn't wait. Didn't want to wait."

  Suddenly, getting it out there, putting the words in the air for her to respond to or not, I felt better—my heart pounding but no longer galloping in panic.

  Gina reached over and took my hand without saying anything. We walked the horses silently for a while to cool them off, the horses’ breath slowing, swish of their tails against their thighs, crunch of hooves through the grass.

  Wherever I am, those sounds remind me of Gina; the way her nipples bloom into soft, sweet buds when you touch them, the way she tosses her head back when she's about to come, the way she was so damn far away from me that I couldn't remember her taste on my tongue.

  We stalled the horses then stood in the sunshine for a minute. I guess I was waiting for a sign, something to tell me what do next. Gina reached her callused palm out to my face, ran it down, scratching my cheek just a little. “You got a piece of hay there,” she said.

  Those red, red lips came closer. I couldn't bear to close my eyes. I wanted to watch her there, lips against my lips, until I went old and blind.

  "Don't stop coming,” I said, when our lips came apart.

  Gina looped her finger through my belt and pulled me right against her. Gave me that big toothy grin.

  "How could I?” she said.

  * * * *

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  Freedom to Serve

  © Nicole Gestalt

  In the silence that followed the crack of the whip, Jane sighed in pleasure, the kiss of the lashes still tingling throughout her body. She felt Marcus’ strong hands gently caressing the welts that marked her now warm buttocks. A finger traced her spine followed by his lips kissing her neck, her body slick with perspiration.

  "You did well today, my love"

  Jane beamed with happiness at hearing his words and collapsed into his arms as he released the restraints that had been holding her up, her legs no longer able to bear her own weight. He lifted her effortlessly and carried her to the bed.

  * * * *

  Sitting down cautiously, Jane looked around at the other suited men and women around the table and sighed, wishing she hadn't had to work today. The welts had gone down a little, but there was still just enough of a tingle to remind her of her night with Marcus. She smiled to herself, and then caught herself wishing she didn't work in a place that seemed to be full of people who never allowed themselves such a small luxury. All eyes in the room turned expectantly to the rather large man at the head of the table. Mr. Linderallman was the head of the company, as his father had been before him, although the one or two people who had worked there long enough to remember the first Mr. Linderallman would openly admit that the youngster didn't really fill his father's shoes.

  Standing at the end of the table in a suit that looked a size too small for his rather large body, he looked at each and every department head, Jane included. This had been an impromptu meeting, and no one was sure why it had been called, although there had been rumours for some time that the company was haemorrhaging money. So, it was no surprise the faces looking back at him wore expressions of extreme anxiety. Mr. Linderallman took a deep breath, and Jane unconsciously winced in expectation of his jacket buttons flying off. After pausing briefly to wipe his brow, he spoke.

  "I know some of you have heard rumours that Linderallman & Hops has been under-performing of late, and I'm sure some of you will have seen the various people being shown around the building. I called this meeting today to say that I have sold the company to Mr. Sullivan. Each of you has a packet in front of you; inside it are details of the changes that will occur. Some of the departments are no longer needed, and I expect you—as heads of those departments—to let everyone know. From this moment on, I am no longer your employer, and I bid you all a good day."

  With that final, cold statement, he stepped backwards and, before anybody had recovered enough to say something, silently departed. The room was deafeningly quiet, everyone looking at the unopened envelopes in front of them, and nobody wanting to say anything. It was likely that they had all lost their jobs, and Jane could do nothing but wonder whether it was entirely legal.

  Jane's department was one of
the ones being dissolved, and she started the grim task of letting everybody who worked under her know they would soon no longer have a job. She had a month to get everything in order before she also had to leave, and in that time, she was methodical about everything.

  She knew she didn't have a job at the end of it all, but she had always been proud of her work and was damned if she was going to let standards slip right at the very end. As she left the large multi story grey building for the last time, she felt a little sadness. She would miss some of the things that had been part of her life there, although she realised that she felt more a sense of freedom than anything else. As for what she was going to do next, both she and Marcus had decided it would be best if she took some time off and just enjoy life. Money wasn't an issue, as the severance pay was enough to leave her comfortable for a long time, and Marcus's job was still bringing in more than enough. So, on her first day as a jobless woman, Jane went shopping.

  * * * *

  Dressed in the corset and stockings she had bought earlier that day, Jane lowered her head and stood in a submissive pose as Marcus walked around her admiring her clothes. It was the first corset she had ever bought. Although Marcus and she often discussed different clothes he would like to see her wear, they had never gotten around to buying them. So when Jane discovered it in the shop window, she decided enough was enough and bought it.

  She watched Marcus's feet every time they passed around her. Each time he seemed to move slower, and she felt very exposed but at the same time excited and thrilled at the attention being lavished upon her. She knew Marcus was in charge, but she also knew that she had power over him in the form of her safe word. No matter what occurred, she had but to utter the word, and everything would stop. Knowing this, she was able to submit to Marcus completely as they had often done in the past year of living together. It had become more intense of late, and Jane had even brought up the possibility of them doing it full time—not just in the bedroom. She loved having Marcus as her Master and had never wanted any man more.

  "Follow me."

  His voice was as soft as velvet, and Jane quickly followed him, eager to obey. He led her into the spare room that they had transformed into a dungeon full of toys and rugs. Everything they would ever need to use during a session was in the room, and Jane always felt a glow of pride when she entered.

  A wall on the right of the door held a shelf. From its edge, the various floggers and whips they had obtained over the past year hung. On the shelf's surface lay various restraints and blindfolds. It was these that Marcus picked up. Jane stood in the centre of the room and let her hands be drawn behind her back. She felt the ropes tightening around her wrists such that, although no circulation was being cut off, she was unable to free her hands.

  "Bend over"

  The command came as a surprise; as they usually started off with Marcus telling her exactly what he was going to do to her. She obediently bent over. If her hands had been untied, she would have used them to steady herself on the floor. Being flexible, she instead widened her stance and steadied herself that way.

  Her ass jutted into the air, and she gasped as she felt Marcus’ hands caressing it. He ran a hand up her thighs and between her legs, cupping her and making her moan, getting wet in anticipation. Marcus placed a hand on her back, and in the moment that followed, she felt the movement of air. Marcus’ other hand made contact with her vulnerable rear. Her instincts were to stand up, but with Marcus’ hand on her back and the training she had received from him in her mind, she knew she had to remain as still as possible.

  His hand flew down onto her a couple more times until she could feel her ass tingling. She knew he was warming her up, and in the silence that followed, she tried to figure out by the sounds which instrument he selected. She heard the creak of leather and knew it must be one of the newer whips. The others had been used so much that the leather cords were softer and more supple.

  She heard the swish of the cord as it flew through the air and felt its sweet caress upon her. Although she found it strange at first, she had grown to adore the pain and pleasure that came from being whipped, especially with Marcus behind it.

  She lost count of the number of times she felt the sweet caress of his whip. Her breathing had become shallow, and all her senses went into overtime. She could hear every movement Marcus made behind her, as well as every stroke of the whip in excruciating detail. As she entered sub-space, everything grew blurry. She was aware of only pleasure and all noises seemed to come from very far away as if drifting to her through a dream.

  Through the mists of sub-space, she felt Marcus moving her, then the edge of a bed, and then—in one swift motion—he entered her. She sighed, feeling his full length deep inside. She never felt full and complete unless he was within her. She felt his warmth and loved how her pussy gripped him as he moved. With Marcus thrusting in and out, Jane remained floating in sub-space, allowing her body to relax. She never felt so fantastic, and she willed her body to give in to his needs, knowing that he was likewise focusing on her pleasure.

  When she finally came out of sub-space, she found that he had placed her on the bed and was holding her to him, just as he always did when they had been through a session. Although it had been quick this time, she knew that they would have plenty more encounters before the night was through, and perhaps tonight they would make it a full-time thing. Perhaps he would become her Master all the time.

  She knew with all her heart it was what she wanted. With a Master like Marcus, who needed a job?

  * * * *

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  Past Perfect

  © Alessia Brio

  The ease with which Jacqueline Manceaux breezed through life provided a perpetual source of annoyance for Denise. She shone like the sun, even in her darkest hours, and to be fair, she had more than her fair share of them.

  In contrast, Denise felt like an ogre in Jacquí's company. The leggy blonde epitomized sexy and had enough smarts not to need good looks to succeed in the business world. To add insult to injury, she had the nerve to be one of the nicest people Denise had ever met. No one, not even Mother Teresa, deserved to be that close to perfection.

  Jacquí strolled past her office carrying her typical bagel and coffee. She lifted the foam cup in a g'morning salutation and gave a megawatt smile that might as well have been nails on a chalkboard for its impact on Denise's mood. The glass walls allowed Denise to follow her progress down the hall.

  Denise hated the fact that she spent so much time trying to find fault with Mademoiselle Manceaux, some chink in the “charmor” that would enable her to legitimately despise the bitch. Shaking herself from the vortex of her thoughts, Denise returned her attention to the day's schedule.

  Busywork made the morning pass quickly, and Denise's stomach reminded her that she'd skipped breakfast. She tidied her desk, signed off her computer, and retrieved her purse from the bottom desk drawer.

  "You look nice today,” a dulcet voice called from the doorway accompanied by a one-knuckle knock. Even Jacquí's vocal chords evoked envy. When Denise looked up, she continued, “Well, you always look nice, but I especially like you in green. Brings out your eyes. Um, sorry to interrupt, but can I talk to you for a minute? It won't take long."

  In spite of herself, Denise beamed. To be first complimented, then wanted—for whatever reason—by the ultra-smooth, ultra-savvy woman made her ego momentarily swell. It didn't take long, however, for the inner cynic to squelch that elation.

  "I'm on my way to lunch.” She enjoyed the flash of disappointment on Jacquí's face. Unable to maintain the brusque dismissal, Denise capitulated, “But you're welcome to join me. I'm just going down to the cafeteria for a salad. I have to show an apartment at one on the other side of the city."

  Jacquí grinned. “Let me grab my purse. Be right back.” With that, she scurried down the hall as fast as her butter-cream Prada pumps would carry her. Denis
e forced herself not to admire the retreat.

  Before she could count to twenty, Jacquí returned with her matching butter-cream Prada handbag. Denise tucked her Coach knock-off under her arm. She felt good about the purchase when she impulsively dropped forty dollars on it last weekend. Now she just felt like as much of an imposter as her bag. Without matching faux-Coach shoes, she even failed as a competent fraud. The urge to compete was strong, but Denise knew that she could spend every spare moment at the gym and every spare dollar on clothes and still not even come close to stealing Jacquí's thunder.

  They shared idle chit-chat in the elevator and as they wove through the lunch line. More than once, Denise wondered what was up. Jacquí declined several invitations to join other groups, opting instead for a small two-person table against the far wall. Once seated, she decided to cut to the chase.

  "So, what did you want me for?"

  Jacquí raised a perfectly-plucked eyebrow but didn't otherwise react to the unintentional innuendo. “You know I just moved into a new place, right? The Garden Towers on sixty-fifth?” She paused to allow Denise time to nod in recognition of the exclusive luxury condos. “Well, I'm having a little dinner slash housewarming party on Friday night—just a dozen or so friends. Nothing fancy or anything, just come-as-you-are. And, well, I was hoping you'd come ... as you are, of course. Do you have other plans?"

  Denise attempted to decide if microwave popcorn and a stack of rented DVDs qualified as other plans and concluded that, yes, it did. She must've hesitated a bit longer than she realized, though, because Jacquí spoke before she was able to formulate a plausible excuse for declining the invitation.

  "Did I do something to offend or upset you? I get the feeling that you don't...” Jacquí paused, apparently struggling to form the words for such a foreign concept, “...like me."

  "No, Jacquí, you haven't done anything to offend me.” Other than exist, she wanted to snarl. Other than to grate on my every nerve with your face and your body and your hair and your clothes and your success and your sparkling fucking personality. Green, Denise decided, was not her color despite Jacquí's earlier compliment.