Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace

by Hill, Joey W.

  Lyda was moving around in the kitchen. Gen heard the microwave going. Perhaps she drank tea with her evening reading. Gen could feel the pulse in his scrotum, matched by the beat in her own cunt. What had seemed like an odd, maybe even silly position—erotic Twister indeed—was apparently up there in the list of erotic torture methods. Her breathing was shallow, her nipples tight against the rug through the thin dress. She wanted to move, wanted to rub against him. Why shouldn’t she?

  Because Lyda had said they were to remain still. Unlike small infractions like Gen touching Noah’s cock, which hadn’t been directly proscribed, Gen sensed deliberately going against something Lyda ordered would be disrespectful, like putting one’s feet up on someone’s coffee table when invited to a luncheon. Gen had choices, yes, but in this case she suspected she only had two approved ones. Stay in this position or back away from Noah and decide not to do this. Period.

  Lyda reentered in a thin silk robe, one that stopped mid-thigh and showed enough provocative movement of her breasts beneath the overlapped lapels, a flash of thigh as she moved, to suggest she wore nothing under it. She carried a book and a teacup, the tag fluttering over the edge. Setting them on the side table next to a wing-backed chair close to the rug, Lyda moved to the mantle and uncovered a metronome. “These are very useful for taking things slow. Did you think I wouldn’t know about that kiss, Noah?”

  She didn’t turn as she said it. Gen realized Lyda must have lingered to watch their mutual feeding from an unseen position.

  “No Mistress.” Noah didn’t look disturbed, but he wasn’t rebellious about it. His gaze was fixed on everything Lyda was doing, his body tight and aroused in its locked position against Gen. She found herself caught in the same thickening atmosphere, her heartbeat accelerating.

  “I’ll address that later. For now…” Lyda set the metronome ticking in a steady rhythm. Turning, her gaze covered Noah’s naked body and Gen’s, still in her dress. The skirt was rucked up so high from their position, Gen knew her ass was peeking out of the bottom, revealing the pink curves. Lyda’s look of pure pleasure confirmed it.

  From the pocket of her robe, she produced two scraps of cloth Gen realized were blindfolds. She squatted before Noah first, while Gen was thinking, oh no, I don’t think so. Before Lyda put it on him, Noah caught her wrist. They locked gazes, Lyda giving him a cool stare. “Let go of me, Noah.”

  He nuzzled her hand with his mouth, his nose, closing his eyes as her nails lightly raked his forehead, his cheek. Her gaze softened, and she caressed the strands of hair scattered on his brow. “Behave,” she murmured.

  He let her go and she put the blindfold in place. When she shifted to Gen, dangling the blindfold before her, Gen smelled the tea, a chai blend, on her fingertips.

  “This will intensify your pleasure,” Lyda explained. “And my own.”

  Gen wasn’t sure. But her hands weren’t being tied. She could remove it at any time. So she didn’t protest when Lyda put the blindfold on her, leaving only a line of light at the lower part and the weight of Lyda’s proximity. She adjusted Gen’s hair over and around it.

  “Hear that slow click, click? That’s one back-and-forth movement. During those two clicks, Gen, rub your cunt against Noah’s balls and the base of his cock in a slow circle. Then you both wait another two clicks and Noah returns the favor. You alternate, never going faster or slower than the metronome. For every three times you mess up, get off rhythm, you get punished. Neither one of you is allowed to come unless I give permission. You’ll do this with minimal talking. I don’t want my reading disturbed.”

  Gen had no doubt she’d be watching them as an eagle watched prey, but the blindfolds would enforce the illusion. They’d hear the turning of pages, the shift of her body as she read, that seeming detachment only increasing the intensity of what they were doing. Hell, her pussy was already quivering with the restrained desire to move, to rub against that provocative stimulus, Noah’s heat and rough-textured flesh against the petals of her cunt.

  Lyda withdrew. They heard the sound of her settling, the light clink as she picked up the teacup.

  “Ladies first.” Noah’s voice was already strained.

  It was a game. Erotic twister, right? She focused on the metronome. It took a moment to get it right, and she hoped Lyda was allowing a learning curve before counting infractions. What would be the punishment? Don’t Pass Go, stand in the corner for a minute? Her guesses probably weren’t even close. But she wasn’t into pain. Definitely not humiliation. That was a deal breaker.

  “Focus,” Noah murmured, a sensual invitation to play, not an admonishment.

  It wasn’t difficult, not from a mechanical standpoint. Rotate… Sliding her labia against the base of his cock, firmly enough the lips split over his hardness, then down… Press against his testicles, the give of them making an uneven stroke over her tissues. Then two beats and he did it to her, working himself against her cunt.

  What was difficult was staying to the slow, ticktock, ticktock rhythm. Especially as they heard those pages being turned, the teacup lifting and lowering. The intensity was driven as much by Lyda’s command as the direct physical stimulus. They were performing for her, serving a Mistress’s desires. As her arousal built, Gen found herself losing a grip on self-consciousness as well as her internal debate about why she was doing this. She wanted to please Lyda, wanted the chance to wrap her lips around that succulent nipple again, feel her hair being stroked and her pussy getting needier as she suckled, as she maybe got the chance to do even more, feel even more, with both of them.

  Her breath started to rasp. She bit it back, then cursed as she missed the rhythm count. Again.

  “That’s three, Gen.” Gen’s stomach jumped, but after a weighted pause, Lyda merely said, “Keep going.”

  Okay, so punishment was going to wait for later. Maybe Lyda was enjoying her voyeurism too much to interrupt it. It was her game after all, from beginning to end.

  That spurt of thrilling panic had only increased sensation, such that she had to bite back a whimper. She’d seen plenty of people tonight who not only got off on being punished, but on watching it. From the size of Noah’s cock pressed against her leg, she thought he’d gotten harder, and her pussy became even more soaked, sliding her against his testicles even faster.

  “On rhythm,” Lyda said sharply.

  The slowness became the true torture, her pussy convulsing with every rotation, her clit hardening, quivering. If she could rub even a modicum faster, she would come. She thought Noah might be reaching the same point, from how careful their movements were becoming. Her fingers dug into the carpet. She’d flattened her upper body, the rug a sweet friction against her nipples. Lift, lower, rotate.

  “Fuck,” Noah breathed. “Mistress…”

  “Sssh…” Lyda said absently. It sounded like she was engrossed in her book, but Gen was sure she was feeding off the pleasure she was denying them. The thought only inflamed Gen more. She and Noah were writhing on the floor like wanton animals.

  “Please…” Gen whispered to the carpet. Then, so softly she thought it might not be heard, she said, “Mistress.”

  Lyda’s bare foot pressed against her buttock. Still no response, no command to come. They had to keep to that rhythm. Over and over, until Gen’s body was dewed with perspiration and she’d coated Noah’s balls in her juices. His leg was damp beneath hers. They were both shaking with the effort of holding back.

  “Stop.” Lyda’s foot withdrew. “Gen, on your knees. Come toward my voice. I won’t let you run into anything.”

  She obeyed, clumsy, uncoordinated, but when Lyda touched her, drew her closer, she made that whimpering sound again. The blindfold helped remove all inhibitions, all embarrassment. There was just lust, the need to come.

  “Sit up on your heels. Hands behind your back. Lace your fingers.”

  She teetered forward as she did it, but Lyda held her securely, hands on Gen’s shoulders. She drew her down and forward, s
o Gen’s chin rested on the seat cushion. Lyda was sliding closer, her thighs pressing against Gen’s shoulders as she hooked her heels around the back of Gen’s knees. Oh…she was going to… Yes.

  She pushed Gen’s face directly into her wet, fragrant pussy. “Eat my cunt, Gen, until I tell you to stop. Serve your Mistress well, and I’ll allow you and Noah to come.”

  She didn’t have the reasoning power to worry that this was her first time doing this to a woman and how to do it. She wanted to taste Lyda’s pussy, suck juices from it, tease the labia, lash at the clit, nip at her with an almost savage hunger, no finesse. Lyda pulled her head even closer, burying Gen’s face and mouth against her, moving against Gen as if she was marking her.

  Gen plunged her tongue inside Lyda’s cunt, finding it slick and hot. The musk of it was different from a man, the strength of the smooth thighs on either side of her head tempered with the delicate scent of that floral powder. She moaned as her own empty pussy contracted, so sensitized, so close to climax, it made her work all the harder now for the reward she’d been promised. That they’d both been promised.

  Noah was behind them, listening to her going down on his Mistress while he was blindfolded. Were his fingers itching to wrap around his engorged cock, jerk himself off to the sound of Lyda’s heavy breathing, the moans that slipped from her lips, the aroused sounds humming in Gen’s throat as she licked, thrust into and suckled Lyda’s cunt?

  Lyda’s grip became rigid on Gen’s head. As she ground herself against her face, she released with guttural cries, a hard pumping of her hips. Gen lapped up the small surges of cream that bathed her pussy, suckled her clean all while savoring the strong woman’s shudders as she came down, as she twitched and quivered. Reading her body as she might read her own, Gen applied her tongue with steady pressure, slowing the swirls and teasing licks to accommodate Lyda’s aftershocks, her sensitized skin. She could smell Lyda on her lips, on her face. In her current state of extreme arousal, she inhaled it like an elixir.

  “Now your punishment. Turn around.”

  Once again, Lyda guided her like a doll. She pushed Gen down until her forehead was on the floor but she kept Gen’s hips up. She was so aroused, the position was more arousing than threatening. All Gen could think of was how her exposed pussy must look, wet and ready to be fucked, tissues flushed, and how easy it would be to make that happen in a variety of ways. Noah’s cock, his or Lyda’s tongue, fingers, a vibrator. She had to come or she’d die.

  A sharp slapping noise made her jump. She was going to be punished, and though panic surged through her, none of it translated through her lust-fogged brain as an act of refusal. Lyda’s hand slid between her legs, cupped her mound. The contact alone made Gen moan, and when Lyda pushed a thumb inside her, using the other fingers to hold her up, she was shuddering.

  Something hard, slim and far too flexible smacked her ass. It hurt, the sting sharp and jarring, but all the arousal swirling through her made the cry that broke from her lips sound near orgasmic.

  “Thought you had that in you, with the right conditions.” Lyda did it again, harder, and Gen yelped. Panted. Gripped the carpet. After the sting came a flush of heat that was hard to classify. Especially when she felt Lyda’s lips brush her raised buttock. Right before the third blow, the hardest of all. She jumped, her brain saying No, no. That hurt too much, no more… And yet she wanted to lift her hips to ask for more.

  Lyda removed her hand from her pussy, gave her throbbing buttock a light slap with her hand. “That’s all you get for now, rabbit. Resume the scissor position and begin again.”

  Noah took over then, which was good since her mind was floating somewhere, her body too spun up to be controlled by her brain. When he eased her back into place, she let out a harsh groan. That contact between their genitals ran electricity through her body, warning her how close she was to climax.

  The metronome was reset, this time to a faster pace. Lyda was trying to turn her into a lunatic. “You may work at the same time now,” the woman said in her pure sex tone “but follow this rhythm. I want to see my pets come, writhing at my feet. Ask my permission right before.”

  With the first friction of Noah’s testicles against her labia, her pussy spasmed. “God…please…I need…”

  She strangled on the words, and Lyda said nothing. She was going to make her say it all. Choice or no choice, free will, wasn’t even in Gen’s mind now. She and Noah were Lyda’s pets, owned by her entirely, able to do what she wanted to them. And that ownership was the most erotic thought Gen had ever experienced. All the independence she valued so highly, it wasn’t as if this moment negated it—it was as if Lyda had called forth an alter ego from Gen, one who wanted this. Needed this as a reward for the other.

  The words blurted from her, lust-infused panic. “Please, Mistress…may I come? Please…” The last word was a near scream.

  “Come for me, Gen.”

  Vaguely, she heard Noah ask for the same privilege and Lyda give consent. His legs jerked, the two of them bucking against each other. She spurted against his testicles, soaking them with her response she was sure. She could see it just as Lyda had described it, them writhing on the floor, humping like the naked, unrestrained animals they were, giving their owner pleasure as she watched.

  Their Mistress.

  When Gen at last landed from her orbit of the moon, she worried she might have scrubbed all the skin off Noah’s testicles. His deep breaths, the way his legs were twitching against hers, told her he was feeling no pain, however. No more than herself. Aftershocks kept rippling through her, mixed with plain old shock. She became aware that Lyda was on her knees next to them. She was stroking Gen’s hair, hip pressed against Gen’s backside. From the rhythmic movements, Gen suspected she was stroking Noah as well. Perhaps his hip or side. Soothing them. Expressing her pleasure.

  “So you aren’t really a nighttime TV watcher,” Gen mumbled.

  “I prefer live entertainment options when I can get them. Sshh.” Lyda stroked the side of her face, coiled her fingers in Gen’s hair. She kept doing that for a while, until lassitude settled over Gen’s limbs and she thought she could stay this way forever.

  But at length, the Mistress took off her blindfold. The intensity in Lyda’s gaze, the tempting beauty of her mouth, made Gen quake helplessly. And Lyda saw it all. The power of her expression, what Gen was feeling, was too much, such that Gen’s gaze lowered before she even realized she’d done it. But the gesture gave her some room to notice other things.

  Lyda had her other hand braced on Noah’s hip. She hadn’t yet removed his blindfold, so the press of his lips, the musculature of his body delineated by the aftermath of his climax, was all Gen’s to enjoy without him seeing her stare, giving her a taste of the exclusive pleasure Lyda had enjoyed. His climax had spurted over his sectioned stomach muscles, up to his chest. Despite the depletion of energy that came with her climax, Gen wanted to slide her fingers through it, paint it over his nipples. Taste it, and him.

  “He’s so beautiful, isn’t he?” Lyda ran a hand down his side, over his buttock, back up to his shoulder. “My sweet boy. My gorgeous, lost soul. Wonderful man.”

  Noah turned his face to the carpet as Lyda slipped the blindfold from him. His eyes stayed closed, his face relaxed, still lost in a haze. Gen understood the feeling. The only thing tugging her toward reality was the trickle of shock at the extraordinary things she’d done tonight. Her languid state kept worry at bay. For now.

  “Time for bed, for all of us.” Lyda rose, offering Gen a hand. When she hauled her to her feet, she swayed. Lyda slid an arm around her waist, letting her lean.

  “I…”

  “Sssh. Let it all go for tonight. You did beautifully.”

  Relief filled her. Yet following, allowing things to happen, wasn’t what she did. She never trusted anyone else in that way, but Lyda simply took control and Gen let her. Lyda was right. She didn’t have the brain power to interpret that, think about it now. />
  As Lyda held her in one arm, she prodded Noah with her foot, a gentle tease. “On your feet, you worthless male animal.”

  Noah cracked an eyelid, but agreeably complied, pushing himself up onto his hip and getting his feet underneath him. When Lyda reached down to him, Gen automatically did the same. Noah paused, as if he might wave off the help, but in the end, he clasped their hands, though he used his own strength to pull himself up, tightening his grip on their fingers as a sign of connection. Despite that, Lyda watched him with her sharp eyes to ensure he had his balance before releasing him.

  Gen thought she could have walked on her own as well, but having Lyda’s body pressed against her side wasn’t something she’d deny herself. She hadn’t tied the robe, completely comfortable with exposing her breasts, the slope of her abdomen and the shaved point of her sex, her long, toned legs. Gen had tasted those breasts, that sex. She wanted to taste her everywhere, wanted to taste Noah’s flesh. Though it was a low-level hum beneath the emotional and physical exhaustion from the big events of the day, it was a tone that was steady and true. A promise that she’d want more than one night of this.

  Lyda took her down the hall and up a set of steep, narrow stairs smelling of old wood. Noah followed close behind them. Gen had the impression of more interesting artwork along the way. No photographs, except for a couple art pieces, not family photos. At the top of the stairs, they turned right, passing a guestroom, a bathroom, and then they were at the master bedroom.

  Lyda had a tester bed with thick pillars and a carved wooden overhang. It looked like an antique, but some unusual customization had been done beneath it. Something startling enough to break Gen out of her post-coital trance. She balked, uncertain. Lyda’s grip tightened on her.

  “It’s all right, Gen. Trust me.”

  Tester beds sat high enough off the floor that there were usually steps to allow shorter people easier access to the mattress. Gen remembered Chloe talking about them once, suggesting they’d been designed by adults who missed childhood bunk beds.