by Debra Hyde
Vermont? Liv wondered.
But no. The car left the highway within the first twenty minutes. And it did not wander far from the beaten path, taking only another fifteen minutes to reach its destination. But had they wandered toward or away from the river? The river, always in her awareness; Liv had lost her bearing and could not guess. Now, it hardly mattered, given a far more startling fact. If this destination was Cassandra's actual home, then Liv would never be far from her. Heart pounding, breath caught in her throat, she felt like a girl awash in the pangs of puppy love.
Reese climbed from his seat, grunting in the process. He sounded inconvenienced. The door shut and almost as quickly, he was at the door behind her, opening it and rummaging about its seat. Gusts of cool air followed him at every door and when he finally opened hers, the temperature hit her fully. Autumn's air would turn cold tonight.
Reese brought her to her feet and slipped something over her shoulders—his jacket? The lapels she grabbed confirmed as much, and she pulled the blazer close.
“Watch your step.” Reese took her arm, leading her like a sighted person aiding the blind. Three steps forward and Liv knew why the warning; she sensed rutted, rounded cobblestones beneath her heels.
Thank God these aren't stilettos.
Reese led her into the house and through several rooms that she knew only by degrees of lighting and scents. An anteroom, musty with outdoor clothes and boots, lowly lit. The kitchen, bright and rich with the lingering aromas from baking and roasted meat. Was that long-grain and wild rice she smelled? Light faded and Liv passed through at least one, maybe two neighboring rooms, both dim but for a sense of light filtering in from elsewhere.
Reese stopped and let go of her arm. Doors slid open, old and solid from the sounds of them. A Victorian home? Liv wondered. Bright light and warmth flooded her. And then, the realization: she must be here. A lump of anticipation choked Liv as Reese instructed her to step forward.
“Watch your step,” he repeated, guiding her over the doorway. The words suddenly seemed fraught with import to Liv, like a caution that fell just short of ominous. A shiver of uncertainty shot through her.
A chuckle floated to her, sounding at once pleased and amused.
“Hold out your hands,” came the command. Liv complied, expecting to be cuffed. But the next command baffled her. “Show me your ears. Now your neckline.”
She's inspecting me, Liv discovered. Cassandra voiced the final step in the process.
“Lift your skirt and expose yourself.”
The gesture felt unduly feminine to Liv but she complied. Inwardly, resistance and distaste roiled, but submission was not meant to be trouble free. Struggle came with the territory.
Her skirt raised, Liv shrank as the room's warmth made her all too aware of the vulnerability that came with nakedness.
“So, she's truly naked,” Cassandra observed. “Not so much as a ring on her finger.” A pause followed the appreciative assessment. “You may lower your skirt.”
Lowering her skirt, Liv sighed. Another hurdle passed. How many more would she have to jump to reach Cassandra? She knew better than to think Cassandra would allow her to simply walk across the room and throw herself and her lust at her. The dynamics she had agreed to did not work that way.
Cassandra swiftly confirmed that fact. “As darling as you look tonight, my dear, I'm afraid it's still too much wardrobe for my tastes,” she taunted. “Reese, remove her clothes. All but her shoes.”
Liv felt Reese's hand upon her, working open the buttons of her blouse. She willed herself to relax, told herself she was ready for this, that she welcomed and wanted Cassandra's scrutiny. Yet she tensed as Reese pulled the blouse from her body and the room's warmth struck her naked flesh and hardened her nipples. She gasped in quiet surprise as a swell of arousal grew plush and heavy between her legs.
Reese tugged at the back of her skirt, fussing with the zipper as it threatened to catch fabric. His struggle returned her to patient waiting, a juxtaposition of calm and impatience. If anyone should be fighting this, it should be me, she thought. Yet she had achieved a serene state and, as she placed a hand on Reese's shoulder and stepped from her skirt, she found her nakedness before Cassandra more pleasurable than she ever imagined. Courage swelled as she imagined Cassandra's gaze.
I'm ready. I want this.
Where once those words had served as a steely mantra, now they acted as affirmation, voicing a desire that had shaped itself into resolve.
“You look as lovely now as the night we met.”
Dominance dripped from Cassandra's statement, but Liv heard approval and attraction there too.
“And what a night that was—the drama of that edge we found, the heat of her lust unleashed. It was wonderful. However, that night was on your terms. You set yourself up for the extreme, begging for it like a street urchin angling for a handout.”
Cassandra's voice hardened, moving away from admiration and reminiscent. Was that rebuke Liv heard?
“Don't get me wrong. It was charming. But now you're in my domain.”
No, it wasn't. Liv sensed a change in parameters coming.
“Here, you'll do what I want, as I want.”
She quivered. The power of Cassandra's expectations was unlike anything Liv had ever experienced. Unlike bottoming, the threshold of submission set an intangible, unknowable depth before her. It was like diving into the dark water of an abandoned quarry lake where you had no idea if you'd even see bottom, yet alone strike it—or if you'd lose compass and flounder to the surface or sink to the bottom. Bottoming, by contrast, was the dive into the deep end of a public pool where you could see bottom—where a lifeguard sat on duty.
“Do you consent to me this night, my darling?” Cassandra asked.
Liv nodded. I'm ready. I want this. The words still felt intrepid.
“Then come to me—on your hands and knees.”
She almost recoiled at the command, but Liv lowered herself to the floor. Unyielding wood met her, hard and cold against her palms and knees. A chill ran through her, its source the floor below her and not born of any fear for what she was about to do. The nearby fireplace, she realized, hadn't burned long enough to warm it.
She reached a hand forward and began to crawl. It felt as instinctive as an infant's urge to move, and as new. She felt clumsy and awkward, but unlike a baby, her embarrassment did not lie in the mechanics of motion; it rested in the knowledge that she might well do whatever Cassandra wanted of her.
And just what would Cassandra demand of her once she crossed the room? Liv hoped for praise and reward.
At her sixth crawling step, she discovered the room was long the way a quarry's lake was deep. At her seventh, she imagined herself performing this act before her peers, women who knew her only as a solid top and game bottom. They'd be shocked to see me groveling.
But Cassandra was not. At the eighth step, Liv felt the flat of Cassandra's shoe press against her lips.
“Far enough. And well done,” she remarked. “I'm impressed.”
The toe of the shoe found Liv's chin and lifted it. It felt like a lover's appreciation, however debasing the scenario appeared. Liv beamed with joy.
“What is it I always say, Reese?”
“It takes a tough dyke to abase herself,” Reese answered. He remained behind, at the other end of the room.
“Indeed it does. It's been a long time since I've seen such pluck.”
Pleased, Cassandra spoke in a softened tone yet Liv heard sureness in the woman's voice. She suspected that Cassandra's demeanor could spin on a dime. Cassandra, however, gently urged her forward.
“Kiss the toe of my shoe.”
Liv met the invocation in willing supplication. Her lips met the hard surface of patent leather, reverence washed over her, and in undeniable ardor and allegiance, she kissed Cassandra's shoe.
Thoughts of her peers resurfaced in her mind. This time, she didn't care how she looked. In the act of coming to Cassa
ndra and kissing her this way, Liv found new strength and serenity, and she relished the discovery.
However profound the kiss, Liv was not wholly chaste—or holy, for that matter. Her motivation remained as temporal and lust-filled as ever. But where once she had roamed the wilderness of the void, now she knelt in submissive restraint. You're in my domain. And in this domain, she awaited direction. She would not act on her own impulse, but on Cassandra's.
“You've done well, following my orders. Hasn't she, Reese?”
“Absolutely.”
“He watched you, you know. He saw the missing lock, its odd absence in your hair. He retrieved the envelope with your ring in it and brought it to me smiling. How he figured it out without opening it, I don't know.”
“Madam,” he interrupted, “I know a ten-gauge ring by feel.”
Cassandra chortled. “Ah, so you fingered it?”
Reese returned her teasing with a conspiratorial chuckle. Liv smiled, enjoying their rapport.
“Fingering good,” he replied in mock-Frankenstein monster.
“Yes, so you've told me,” Cassandra replied. “Was it good for you?” she asked Liv.
Liv nodded. “Yes, ma'am. Very good, thank you.”
Cassandra returned a smug grunt of acknowledgement, then confessed, “I'm sorry I wasn't there to deliver it myself. Reese's account of the episode left me jealous with lust and I've been insatiable ever since. Haven't I, Reese?”
“I've got the calluses on my tongue to prove it,” he ribbed.
“Watch it, boy.” Cassandra shot her reply, fair warning that Reese had better watch his own step.
“Yes, madam,” he replied, defaulting into deference.
“Anyway,” Cassandra continued, “it's been such a bother that I decided there's only one solution.”
Liv heard the rustle and shifting of clothing—of a skirt being raised, plenty of it. A stiff petticoat? Then, Liv realized what Cassandra was initiating and the question flitted away, too trivial to linger in the face of impending invitation. Agog, Liv prayed she wouldn't fall into slack-jawed drooling.
“My darling, kiss your way to me. Please me.”
Cassandra's words paralyzed Liv. More than anything, she wanted to climb kiss by kiss, caress by caress, up Cassandra's legs. She ached to touch her, to connect with her. But what Cassandra demanded seemed so…so straight. Old rumors made her hesitate.
“Do you have a problem with my command?”
The words from Cassandra's first note came to Liv, those that spoke of challenges difficult and unusual, that to turn back once meant to turn back completely. Without hope of a second chance.
“No, Cassandra.”
Liv pressed her lips to Cassandra's ankle to prove it. Fishnet fabric met her touch and she laid a second kiss just above the first, tender and reverently. Then, as if in reward, scent hit her, muted but unmistakable. Cassandra's perfume. Liv inhaled, took it deep into her lungs, and continued her climb upward.
Cassandra's stockings tasted dry against Liv's mouth, denying her the luxury of flesh's reward. She could not taste her mistress's skin or feel its softness against her lips. Was denial part of Cassandra's modus operandi? Liv only had to consider the previous weeks to answer that question.
An approving moan came from on high, encouraging Liv onward. At calf height, the scent of perfume was no stronger here than at floor level—she must've applied it early in the day, Liv thought. But already she sensed a new aroma, barely detectable but oh so familiar. It was the essence of arousal and Liv wondered when she would meet it head-on.
Liv mixed light nibbles with her kisses, lipping like a horse soliciting its master for a sugar cube. Would it convey how much she wanted to reach that valley of promise that lay ahead?
Cassandra did not respond. Daring more, Liv ran her hand up Cassandra's leg, determined to convey her urgent desire.
Cassandra jerked away, pulling herself upright in her chair.
“No hands!”
Liv dropped her hand without pause and froze in place. Fearing sudden dismissal, she prayed that Cassandra would return her to her task.
“Do not do that again,” warned Cassandra, her words sharp but not condemning. “Only your mouth will touch me.”
“I won't, I promise.” Liv hurried, barely above a whisper. Electrified, she sealed her promise with a kiss and continued upward.
At Cassandra's knee, Liv felt like a climber reaching the first leg of a long trek to the summit and, like the song of a mountain calling to its adventurer, Cassandra's flesh beckoned to Liv. She traversed to Cassandra's inner thigh, taking a path that would bring her to her longed-for reward. A sigh reached her ears, its sweet desire heightened by the blindfold. Liv swelled, her mind's eye imagining Cassandra, impatient and hungry, grabbing her by the hair and dragging Liv from her loins and to her mouth. She imagined a perfect kiss ensuing—the softness of lips, a quick but gentle parting, tongues meeting. Passion would escalate, made urgent in the heat of contact.
The thought irresistible, Liv pulled her hands from the floor, nearly touching Cassandra. But she stopped short, her restraint expressed in an agonizing moan. Unwilling to defy Cassandra's rule, Liv shoved her hands behind her back, hands clasping wrists.
Her effort did not escape notice.
“Look at her,” Cassandra remarked, “determined to present herself as a slave.”
“Indeed,” Reese approved, his voice still floating from across the room. He remained at his post.
Liv, however, knew it wasn't conscientious obedience that drove her. Longing did, perched at the precipice of lust. Altruism had nothing to do with it.
Hard boniness gave way to the soft cushion of thigh, and if flesh could be a last alpine meadow before one's climb met rock, Cassandra's would be it. But it did not give way to the rough terrain of an unforgiving cliff. It remained broad and when Liv's lips met the gartered hem of Cassandra's stocking, she gasped, her mouth stumbling at this unexpected gift.
She paused. The scent ahead now wafted strong and welcoming.
“Go on.”
Finally, Liv kissed naked flesh. She shuddered, spellbound by the sheer wonder of that first unencumbered touch. But she did not waiver. She kissed onward, purposeful and attentive. She lingered at the occasional sweet spot when a moan or a gasp clued her to it, plying tongue and playfully nibbling before moving onward. Closing in on her target, Liv grew heady with the ache of desire.
Good God, I want you, Cassandra. I beg you, do not stop me!
A slick spot met Liv at the deep curve of Cassandra's thigh, startling her. Cassandra, wet! Liv soared. So close, I'm so close! She lipped the wet flesh, tasted its musk, and made ready to leap across the crevasse from thigh to her reward. But a deep shudder from her mistress stalled her. Another sweet spot. Impulse wanted Liv to ignore it, but she knew she had to tend to it. My wants are second to hers, she reminded herself
It took seconds to tame this last sweet spot, but the agony of waiting had no sense of time. Her own body awake, heavy with the ache of need, Liv considered touching herself. The thought of her mouth at work on Cassandra, her hand busy between her own legs, of the mutual frenzy that would follow made Liv shiver. Charged with temptation's electricity, she almost reached for herself. But then another thought intruded: Cassandra discovering it, shouting disapproval, pushing her away.
Turning her out. Forever. Again, the mantra rose. My wants are second to hers. Liv clenched her wrists and kept her hands in place.
And in those quick seconds, amid those fleeting thoughts, Liv sated the sweet spot.
Her breath a hard lump, anticipation knotting within her, Liv kissed her reward. Instantly intoxicated, she soared, lust's rapture her cloud.
She skimmed Cassandra's cunt, her tongue touching, tasting, discovering. She mapped her mistress's exterior, labia staid and thick, thin and inviting. She burrowed her tongue deep, meeting the plush, wet flesh of Cassandra's interior with a shivering groan. And when her tongue had poked a
nd prodded, lapped and licked enough, she journeyed upward until she found that hard bead, the seat of every woman's arousal.
A hand at the back of her head confirmed her instincts. Cassandra was ready for this. Liv flicked her tongue, swirled it about, testing to see if Cassandra preferred a general sweep or a specific spot. A shiver and a moan—there, when she swiped a bit to the right of Cassandra's clit.
She poured her focus and ability onto that one minuscule spot, her tongue blazing with motion. She pressed hard as she raked Cassandra, urging her mistress to let pleasure take her. She worked relentlessly, never letting up. Not when Cassandra arched her back. Or pushed her head hard against her. Or felt suffocating heat surround her.
She pursued Cassandra's orgasm, hunted it. And when she felt thighs tighten around her face, when Cassandra bucked against her, she knew she had secured her prey.
Cassandra cried out, flooding Liv with cascading waves of wet release. Only two contractions actually met Liv's lips, but she knew Cassandra would ride that current, bucking and grinding to make it last, until ecstasy faded into completion.
But when the inevitable arrived, Liv was not released from Cassandra's needs. “More,” she was told. More, she gave.
Chapter Six: She Decides
If Liv ever wondered about the sublime nature of submission, all curiosity fled as the evening wore on. She became a workhorse to Cassandra's desires. Yoked to the woman's commands, she heeded the rein, rarely chafing at the bit in complaint. When Cassandra had her fill, Liv came away with a tired jaw, a sore tongue, and an utterly infatuated heart, one ready to tip into love.
“Crawl back to Reese, my dear.”
The work of submission and its heady euphoria left her aware but dazed. Turning on all fours was an effort, the first steps painfully plodding, the haze comparable to what she'd experienced after hours-long exercises in masochism. But Cassandra had provoked this high without lifting so much as a finger, and as she slogged across the floor, Liv knew she had finally tasted deep submission.
