Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace

by Hill, Joey W.

  Beyond that, she had a dozen little sensual pains to remind her that, at every turn last night, it had been one or both of them, touching her, holding her. Her hip joints were sore from Lyda being between her legs.

  No surprise then, her cautious heart and soul feeling a little tentative about it all. But this was likely no more than an extraordinary one-night stand. Their world wasn’t her world. She had no complaints, though. They’d given her a bucket-list kind of night. She’d never known such a thing was on her bucket list, but it was on there now. Box checked. No need to repeat.

  Unless she really, really wanted it to be repeated. Which would be problematic. When Noah had waltzed her along the dance floor to help her relax, her heart had tilted at his romantic gesture, but she couldn’t block how he’d gone so still behind her, watching the man be whipped. Noah slept in a cage for Lyda. Yes, he’d submitted to Gen’s touch, to her request to masturbate for her…but that was nowhere near the same. He needed more extreme levels she already knew she didn’t have. And then there was Lyda. What she needed, demanded, expected, wasn’t even in the realm of Gen’s reality.

  So that was that. This was just a pleasant adventure with two fascinating people. Stop making so much of it.

  She stepped into the shower, intending to do a fast soap and rinse, but the high-pressure spray was as good as a massage, easing rediscovered muscles. She washed herself thoroughly, smelling the reminder of her climaxes as she washed between her legs. Had Lyda done that as well? And what about Noah? She imagined him washing the jetted semen off his chest and stomach, cupping his balls, cleaning his shaft and the corona, thumbing soap into his slit.

  When she left the shower, she realized why the nursery-logo T-shirt had been left. Knotting it over her dress gave her a more casual look. She noticed a pair of canvas sneakers on the floor, white ankle socks draped over them, a replacement for her heels, which were aligned next to them.

  The sneakers were clean but not brand new. It was unsettling, to be with someone so observant she’d noticed Gen and she were the same shoe size. She was glad Lyda hadn’t left her jeans, because she was sure she couldn’t wear whatever size Lyda wore on her perfect ass. Gen slipped the clean thong beneath the skirt, mind skittering over Lyda washing her saturated underwear.

  The nursery shirt was faded, comfortable and had Lyda’s clean fragrance. Like all women, Gen had worn a male lover’s shirt, wanting his smell surrounding her. She’d never thought of having the same urge with a female lover, but she’d wrapped Lyda’s robe around herself for more than just modesty. Now that she was wearing her shirt, she hoped Lyda wouldn’t want it back. It could be her souvenir, like I-went-to-the-Grand-Canyon.

  I-had-a-mind-blowing-BDSM-threesome.

  Shaking her head at herself, she exited the bathroom carrying her heels, the bra stuffed into one of them. Too bad she didn’t know how to hotwire a car, but that would be the height of cowardice. Morning-afters could be so awkward, though. She was reluctant to destroy the pleasurable memories of it.

  Despite her trepidation, she was all too aware she hadn’t donned the bra, something she was full-breasted enough to normally do as a matter of practicality. She couldn’t deny knowing that she’d see Lyda or Noah before she got into her car had probably contributed to the decision. She was going to avoid overthinking it. Or at least try.

  The living room throw rug was gone. Lyda had probably tossed it into the wash as well, because there would certainly be fluids upon it, given Noah hadn’t been wearing a condom and Gen…well, Gen tended to make a similar mess. She’d done enough internet research to know that women could learn to have such a response, but those that did it spontaneously, regularly, weren’t as common. She’d considered it on par with chronic adult acne. Until last night.

  That’s my good girl. She remembered Lyda passing her hand over the wet spot, the smoldering look that said it made Lyda hot.

  If she didn’t think some mundane thoughts, this was going to be more awkward than she already anticipated it being. She pushed that aside to take in the details of the living room and kitchen she’d missed last night. Plant clippings in interesting vases were scattered through the house. Lyda’s furniture choices straddled the line between good design and comfort. Everything spoke of a successful woman who knew her likes and dislikes and rarely doubted herself. Gen stopped at the mantle. She saw a few colorful prints like what was in the bathroom and a small abstract sculpture or two. Again, no personal photographs. She hadn’t seen any in her brief glimpse of Lyda’s home office.

  She was private, a woman who didn’t give away much about herself. The impressions given were those intended to be conveyed. Like a portfolio.

  But… Gen fingered the shirt, lifted some of the loose fabric to smell it again. This was personal. It sent a more intimate message. Or it could simply be what Lyda had available to loan her and Gen was being an infatuated idiot.

  Then there was the puzzle of Noah. Why had Lyda called him a lost soul? Gen had seen sadness in the Mistress’s eyes when she said it, overlaid by a fierce protectiveness. If Gen hadn’t been paying close attention to Lyda’s face, she would have missed both, because the expression was gone in a flash.

  Where was Noah this morning? She missed them in different ways, but with an equal measure of longing, such that she felt it in her vitals. In her wildest dreams, she’d never imagined she’d be caught up in a relationship so hard to classify or predict.

  Careful, Gen. This isn’t a relationship. Call it infatuation or a crush, it was still so outside her milieu it wasn’t out of line to compare it to getting starry-eyed over celebrities. Noah and Lyda might as well be Orlando Bloom and… As she moved into the kitchen, she couldn’t come up with a starlet comparable to Lyda.

  The appetizing odors leading her to the kitchen reminded her breakfast was in the oven. A place setting—bright-red and brown pottery plate, shiny utensils arranged on a neat cloth napkin—waited at the table. The spotless juice glass picked up the sunlight from the picture window. Cracking the oven door, she found it on low heat, keeping the pancakes, eggs and sausage warm. Though she was normally a tea and toast person, it smelled heavenly. She transferred the food to the plate then opened the fridge to find a cup of juice and cut fresh fruit lined up at eye level with a note next to them. For Gen.

  Last night, she’d been treated like a submissive, here to serve a Mistress. Yet she’d also been pleasured to the point of brain overload, and this morning, she was being cared for like an honored guest. It was a lot to think about.

  As she ate at least half of the food, she gazed out the big window and wondered if Marguerite and Lyda consulted on gardening tips, because the view reminded her of Marguerite’s private side garden at the tea shop. A perfect meshing of plants flowed together around conversation points, like a spiral walkway, a fountain, a meditation bench. A pair of concrete rabbits sat next to the bench, one on his hindquarters while the other burrowed among a lavender-colored sprinkle of flowers. Marguerite might have bought some of her plants from Lyda, though Gen didn’t know how long they’d known one another. She didn’t know much about their relationship at all, which made her wonder how much Marguerite could be coaxed to tell her.

  No one coaxed Marguerite to do anything. You asked and waited for her decision. She and Lyda had that in common as well, but Gen had noted an intriguing softer side to Lyda, like the expression in her eyes when Noah had gripped her wrist. She’d issued that gentle reproof, Behave, but it had been laced with fondness.

  Was Lyda in love with Noah? How would being in love look on Lyda?

  She wrapped up the rest of her breakfast and found a bag in a stash of recycled grocery bags to tuck it away, along with heels and bra. She’d eat the remainder at lunch. Gen washed her plate and utensils, put them in the dish drainer. As she straightened, she realized there was no evidence of Noah’s presence here. At Gen’s house, he’d been very respectful of her space, making his bed in the morning, leaving the room exactly as he�
�d found it. Was that part of his submission?

  Marguerite had said Noah didn’t really have belongings, but was there a place here he might leave a book or two, his few clothes draped on a chair? Pocket change on the dresser. Or, given that he gave Lyda his earnings, maybe not that.

  She wouldn’t know unless she talked to Lyda. Gen sighed. Maybe she could figure out how to hotwire a car.

  On that dubious thought, she left the house. Two cats, a calico female and a fluffy black male, curled up in the sunlight warming the concrete stepping stones. They gave her a lazy look, not the least concerned by a stranger possibly stepping on them. It suggested they were used to comings and goings on the property. By customers, she hoped.

  In the tidy box she’d put this incredible week, she’d imagine she’d been as special an event to Lyda and Noah as they had been to her. But she was mature enough to know that would be part of the fantasy.

  Bending down, she petted both felines. Maybe she’d move the cat adoption up on her timetable. It would be fun to have a cat playing with the scraps of paper in her craft room, falling asleep on the table, keeping her company.

  The cats were affectionate, well-fed, healthy. Very likely spayed and neutered, otherwise the female would show signs of repeated pregnancy. Good. Nothing could disrupt her fantasy as quickly as finding Lyda was an indifferent or irresponsible pet parent. She thought about the kind of control Lyda held over the people around her and imagined all that going down the drain when it came to her cats. Did they jump up on her desk, shred paper despite her chastising? Make her laugh as they raced around the house, ignoring stern reproofs about wild behavior? She’d like to see that.

  The woman was so self contained. How much could Gen invest in someone she knew so little about? How much of herself would she risk? She’d risked a lot last night.

  At this rate, she’d be confronting Lyda for her car keys three days from now. Bidding the cats a reluctant farewell, she followed the gravel drive around the back of the house, back to the nursery. Since it was Sunday, the business was closed, no chance of customers or employees providing a buffer. Gen looked into the open greenhouses. Automatic misters were watering an array of plants, washing humid greenhouse air over her skin. Maybe that was why Lyda’s skin was so lovely.

  She located Lyda behind the third greenhouse, in front of a field of young saplings. She was wrapping the root balls of a dozen young crepe myrtle trees in burlap. They were probably being transported to new homes tomorrow.

  As Gen moved toward her, Lyda’s head lifted. In that one sweeping glance, Gen felt everything that had happened last night anew, including those several screaming orgasms. Lyda’s gaze covered the way her T-shirt clung to Gen’s body, then rose to her face, as if evaluating everything about her state of mind before one word was spoken.

  When Gen’s attention slid to the right, finding it hard to meet that stare, she discovered Noah taking a nap on a lush square of grass about thirty feet away. He wore jeans and a nursery T-shirt, stretched attractively over his shoulders and chest. He slept on his side, folded arm pillowing his head.

  “Midmorning break?” Gen asked low, nodding toward him.

  Lyda glanced his way. “He’s already put in a good four hours this morning, digging up this stock. As well as making you breakfast and cleaning your clothes. He sleeps better in the daylight, so I make him take a nap midmorning. Else he gets cranky in the afternoon and I have to spank him.”

  Despite the humor—she assumed it was humor—Gen felt a pang of horror. “He didn’t need to do all that. I’m sorry. You should have woken me.”

  “You’re not my employee. Or my committed sub. He is. If I’d wanted you awake, Gen, I would have woken you.”

  Gen had plenty of bland, polite things to say, but Lyda’s directness drove everything away but the thing uppermost in her mind. “I have no clue how to process what happened last night.”

  Lyda dropped to her haunches, wiped her brow. She had her hair pulled in a tail through the back of the bill cap. The brim shadowed her eyes, enhancing the dark lashes. “How do you want to process it, Gen? An adventure, a one-time event?”

  As Gen shifted, Lyda nodded. “It’s fine to rationalize it that way, if that’s all you want. It’s more comfortable that way, to bring closure to it. Right?”

  “Yes. I guess. I mean, do you…” Gen trailed off. “It was an amazing night. Very different from what I’m used to. Thank you.”

  Could she sound more stiff and stupid? Maybe if she broke into song and tried a cartwheel.

  “You were a pleasure to command. You should let that side of yourself rise to the top more often.”

  “I don’t know if I’m that way, really. Like you said, I guess all of us have some of it in us, and with the right triggers… Someone like you would bring it out of a person, no matter how dormant.”

  As Gen spoke, Lyda pulled off a work glove. She gripped Gen’s leg above the knee, beneath the hem of the short skirt. “Why are you standing above me, Gen?”

  Her hand was slightly damp from the perspiration of her efforts. Gen’s knee trembled under that touch. But it wasn’t like last night. There was too much reality around them. She backed away a couple steps. Lyda put the glove back on, but gave Gen a frank look.

  “Do you want more, Gen? Because you can have more. I’m willing to explore that.”

  Explore her submission? A relationship? “I don’t know. I need to go home and think about it.”

  “A cautious approach isn’t a bad idea. Just don’t paralyze yourself with it. If this is something you want, you say how much or how little. You’re in control of your own participation.”

  Again that emphasis on choice. But Gen hadn’t expected Lyda to be willing to choose more time with her. “What do you want…I mean, do you…”

  Do you really like me? It sounded so juvenile to ask it that way. But she hadn’t anticipated falling short on a mature way to voice her innermost feelings about this. Maybe she could come at it from a new angle.

  “You said last night I could try it from different sides. How I was with Noah that weekend…what if I wanted to be more…assertive with that?”

  “Like try on the Domme hat? Where you exercise full control?” Lyda’s expression was neutral, but Gen wondered if she was laughing at her. The rabbit wanting to be a wolf. She lifted her chin.

  “Maybe.”

  “Hmm.” Lyda pursed her lips. “We’ll be back at The Zone Wednesday night. Can you join us? If you want to use me as a mentor, I’ll walk you through some of the basics. Or I can introduce you to a club Domme, if you want a more neutral party.”

  Just like that. As if it wasn’t a momentous decision, an explorer declaring her brave intent to seek new lands. “Would I be practicing on him?” Gen glanced at Noah.

  “I’m sure he’d be happy to help you in that regard, with my permission, which I would certainly grant. But we’ll see what you think once you’re there. There are always more subs than Doms. You needn’t limit your experience.”

  Gen pressed her lips together. “Are you hoping I’ll fall on my face and prove that I’m really a submissive, because that’s what you want me to be?”

  Lyda’s eyes frosted. “That’s rude, Gen.”

  “Is it true, though?” She wasn’t overwhelmed by her hormones now. She wasn’t begging for punishment with her ass in the air or writhing in ecstasy beneath Lyda. What had happened last night, that didn’t completely define her, as it seemed to define Noah. She needed to make that clear. Lyda wasn’t Gen’s Mistress. She had the right to be rude if she thought she was being patronized.

  When Lyda said nothing, just continued to regard her, Gen thanked God for her interactions with Marguerite. As intimidating as Lyda’s gaze was, a damn Supreme Court judge couldn’t top Marguerite’s pale-blue stare. Lyda’s intimidation factor was close, though, especially since Gen had never made herself vulnerable to Marguerite as a lover. She literally dug the heels of the sneakers into the earth to hold f
ast.

  “What is it you’re really seeking here, Gen?” Lyda asked. “I don’t think you’re trying to pick a fight, but you want something that’s causing you to provoke one.”

  “I know nothing about you,” Gen pointed out. “If last night was just a carnival ride, then that’s fine. I don’t need to know anything more about you than the guy who pushes the lever of the Ferris wheel. And if that’s it, then that’s it. I go home, and I see you and Noah now and then when your paths cross Marguerite’s, and I remember last night with this fond sort of disbelief. Maybe it was how little I knew about you that made last night possible, the intimacy-of-strangers kind of thing.”

  As Lyda remained silent, bottled emotions surged forth, surprising Gen with their strength. “I don’t know what I want, Lyda,” she blurted. “Any relationship scares me, because the plain truth is I make bad choices when it comes to all that. Maybe you’ll think I’m silly and unsophisticated, but it’s also all too intense, too emotional, for me to treat it like a carnival ride. If you tell me you want it to be more than that, maybe I’ll find the courage to come back for another ride. But if the ride is all you’re going to give me of yourself, I probably can’t do it. There’s a way about you…I could turn into some kind of puppy, craving every scrap you throw my way. I have enough self-respect to make the choice to stay away. I can sew up any holes you put in me last night and pretend they never happened.”

  She hadn’t meant to go off like that. But every word was the God’s honest truth. It had been a really long time since she’d made herself as vulnerable as she’d made herself last night. Lyda’s charisma and personality tempted Gen to crack herself open like an egg and let it all spill out before her. She couldn’t risk a deeper relationship on such unequal footing.