“Because you think there’s a speed limit to these things, or because you’re afraid you’re setting yourself up for a crash? Do you think you’re in the car alone, Gen?”
Gen’s gaze slid up to her. Their faces were close, Lyda’s hand on her forearm, hers in Lyda’s hair, an intimate connection. Was it possible that Lyda had just implied what she thought she had? As for Noah…was Lyda speaking for them both?
Lyda had made it clear she didn’t say what she didn’t mean, but Gen wasn’t ready to press for confirmation. For now, the tingle spreading through her vitals was enough. Gen changed the subject.
“So you don’t want me to let my hair down in front of anyone, but you can let yours down for the whole world to see?” And covet.
“Yep,” Lyda said. “There’s a different kind of fairness in a Dom/sub relationship.”
“Doesn’t sound fair at all.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” Lyda bent down further, all that intentness brought up close and personal. “Does it bother you, Gen, a man getting pleasure out of looking at me?”
“I think everyone gets pleasure looking at you. But it bothers me to think you could do this with me, and then…”
“Don’t piss me off, rabbit. It’s a customer meet. I don’t plan on fucking him.” She touched Gen’s lip. “I save that for my pets. Both of them.”
Her tone changed to the Mistress who could snap Gen’s spine straight and drive a spike of arousal through her. “Look at you, breathing so heavy. Your pussy’s just begging for it, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Gen whispered.
“Good.” Lyda straightened. “Keep it that way. It’s mine to enjoy when I choose. Would you like to go to Gatlinburg next weekend?”
Gen blinked. She was so aroused, she wasn’t sure she could drive herself safely to work, and Lyda was chatting up weekend plans. “Sure.”
Lyda pulled a dollar out of her purse, handed it to her. “There’s a drink machine in the hall. Get me a Diet Coke. Hurry back, and we’ll talk about it.”
Gen rose, movements uncoordinated, but Lyda gave her butt a slap sharp enough to elicit a yelp and narrow glance. It did help her focus enough to go find the drink machine, though. Putting in the dollar with fumbling fingers, Gen retrieved the soda, came back. Lyda was leaning toward the mirror, applying some eye liner, making a perfect presentation of her ass in the snug hold of the skirt. Gen wondered what Lyda would do if she slapped her ass.
Lyda met her gaze in the mirror. “Do it, and next time I tie you down, your backside will match my hair.”
Occasionally there was an advantage to having an easy-to-read face. When Lyda threatened such a thing, Gen’s pulse accelerated, telling her she wanted such a punishment. Gen had never particularly longed for pain as part of sex, but the way Lyda took control of her and Noah, the way she administered discipline, was like discovering an adult love of roller coasters.
Plus—and this was an important component of it—her reaction fed Lyda’s pleasure, which in turn escalated Gen’s…and so on and so forth. Despite that, she wouldn’t be slapping Lyda’s ass. There was a right and wrong way to incur discipline at her Mistress’s hand, and doing it that way felt like feeding tofu to a cheetah.
Lyda was studying her face. “You’re not a brat, Gen,” she said softly. “Or a bottom, just seeking to get off by being topped. I like that about you. Very much.”
Mutely, Gen offered the Diet Coke. Taking it, Lyda pointed her back to the bench. “Same position. Whenever I command you to sit, you assume that posture. If I make you kneel, your knees stay shoulder width apart, no matter what you’re wearing, because if you’re on your knees, we’re in company that understands what’s going on. They know you’re under my protection. You’re safe, as long as you follow my commands. I want you to think about that, because occasionally I insist on some PDS outside a club. Public Displays of Submission.”
When Gen was seated, Lyda turned back to the mirror to finish up her makeup. “Noah invited me to meet his grandmother. She lives in Tampa, but goes up to Gatlinburg to stay with friends for a month in the summer. One of them also has a rental house in town, so Noah’s grandmother wants him to come stay there for a few days, do some maintenance on it as thanks for her room and board. I think she also likes to show off her cute grandson. He asked me to go with him. I haven’t said yes, but I’m thinking I might. Particularly if you’d like to go too.”
She anticipated Lyda’s agreement would shock Noah as much as it was taking her off guard. “Does he usually invite his…Dommes to meet his grandmother?”
Lyda gave her an amused look. “You were stumbling over that one, weren’t you? You knew ‘girlfriend’ didn’t fit. No, I expect he doesn’t.” Lyda sobered, studying herself in the mirror. “Which is why I shouldn’t go.”
“Do you want to go?”
“Yeah, I do. Which worries me.” Lyda gave her a rueful look. Such a woman-to-woman exchange was something Gen had as a matter of course with Chloe, and rarely but sometimes with Marguerite. It was the first time she’d experienced it with Lyda.
“How would we introduce ourselves? As his friends?” Gen had a hard time keeping her hands off either one of them. If his grandmother had a sharp eye, or even a single functioning brain cell, it was going to be difficult to keep their relationship under wraps. But people tended to see what they wanted to see, right? Both of her mothers-in-law had thought everything was going great, that their sons were perfect. Until the day they announced the divorces, and then it didn’t take too much for them to turn the blame all on Gen. Despite the fact Guy wouldn’t have even visited his mother except when Gen nagged him to do it.
“We are his friends, aren’t we?” Lyda asked.
Gen didn’t know how to respond to that. Chloe was a friend. They shared laughter and jokes, hugged a lot, worked together. They told each other about their lives, their feelings. Yes, Chloe shared more than Gen, but over time, Chloe had earned enough of Gen’s trust that she knew more about Gen’s feelings on things than she’d ever anticipated sharing. With Lyda, she felt a desire to share a lot of things, but she hesitated because of Lyda being Lyda. Gen could certainly call her and Noah her friends in front of his grandmother, but did that really fit?
“I asked Noah what he thought he deserved,” Gen said instead. “He said whatever his Master or Mistress thinks he deserves.”
Lyda pressed her lips together, packed her lipstick away. “It’s why most Dominants don’t hold onto him. That lack of identity and self-esteem is a harrowing responsibility. In the right circumstances, it seems like a treasure, but it’s hazardous to the sub. It’s tempting to the worst kind of Doms.”
“But not to you?”
Lyda lifted a brow, leaned against the sink, gaze sliding with leisurely pleasure over Gen in her submissive posture. “What do you think?”
Thinking was difficult. But Gen gave it a try. “I think you refuse to let yourself back away from a challenge. And you think you’re entitled to his service, because you feel you earn it by what you give back to him.”
“I feel I earn it?” Lyda gave her an amused look, then sobered again. “Noah ‘s submission is a beautiful thing, but there’s a missing foundation support, like a chair with only three legs. You don’t realize a leg is missing until you tip in that direction. The thing is, he’s very good at keeping anyone from tipping him in that direction. However, if he’s pushed there, a crash happens, and it’s not beautiful at all.”
Gen’s brow furrowed, but Lyda continued, forestalling comment. “Eventually, I hope to get deep enough inside him to help him put in a prosthesis.”
“What happens after that?” Gen gazed at her.
“That will be up to him, and me. And maybe you.”
Lyda hooked a finger in Gen’s shirtfront, beneath the connection between her bra cups. She tugged there, letting her thumb drift over Gen’s left nipple. “Nope, no moving. Keep those hands at your sides. You’ve touched me as much as I’m going
to permit right now. Your pussy’s needy as a virgin’s on her wedding night, isn’t it?”
Gen wet her lips. Lyda spoke again, sharp. “You answer me when I ask you a question, Gen.”
“Yes Mistress. Yes.” Gen bit back a plea as Lyda plucked at her nipple. Gen’s fingers dug into her thighs as she tried not to squirm.
“Drop your panties to your ankles, Gen. Don’t interrupt what I’m doing.”
It wasn’t easy in a seated position. It required some awkward wiggling. Lyda moved to the other nipple, making Gen gasp.
“I’ll clamp these during one of our sessions. Once they’re nice and swollen, I’ll pull the clamps off. It’s excruciating, but when I have Noah suckle you after you’ll love it. Pain and pleasure work that way for you, Gen. Have you noticed?”
“Somewhat. Maybe. Yes.” She was certainly experiencing those two elements right now under Lyda’s firm fingertips.
“Eyes open. You don’t get to hide from me in any way. A hundred percent present when your Mistress is commanding you.” Lyda stepped back, taking her hand away. “Pull your skirt up to your waist, and straddle the end of the bench so you can’t close your legs. Hips tucked under so your pussy isn’t in contact with the wood at all.”
Lyda gave her another of those kick-your-ass looks, and Gen moved to do it. She made sure her back was straight, the bench cool against her bare buttocks.
Lyda picked up the soda, still so cold that the metal sides looked frosted. Squatting at the end of the bench, she put the top of the can right up against Gen’s cunt.
Fuck. The provocative contrast of aroused heat and relentless cold drove a cry from her, but she made herself stay still because that was what Lyda had ordered.
“You tell me when it’s too much, Gen. I decide when to take it away.” Lyda propped her other hand on the bench, her tone casual even as her expression was anything but. “And while you’re thinking about that, you think about this too. You ever raise a hand to me again, there will be tough consequences.”
“Do you mean when I almost slapped you for the doormat comment, or what I was thinking when you were bending over the sink?”
She must be insane to try yanking Lyda’s chain, but her state of arousal wasn’t helping her judgment. Lyda’s eyes glittered, appreciating her fire while also conveying she was more than capable of melting Gen down like candle wax with it.
“Both. Consider me the Old Testament God. I punish for thought as well as deed.”
At first, she’d been so hot between her legs, the can felt good. But as Lyda kept holding it flush against her tender flesh, the cold invaded, followed by pain, because that was how the brain warned a person when things became too much. Gen struggled against it, though. Her Mistress was watching, waiting, and she wanted to show her she wouldn’t fail her. But oh fuck it was starting to really hurt…
“Beg me, Gen.”
“I…can hold out.”
“No, you can’t.” Lyda took it away, gave her thigh a reproving tap. “Begging your Mistress for mercy is a gift to me as well. You don’t risk nerve damage just to prove a point. We aren’t in competition. You’ll figure that out eventually.”
Giving her an even look, Lyda straightened. “If nothing else, that’ll settle you down enough I don’t have to worry about you driving. As for me…” Her fingers slid over the tab top. “I’ll have the pleasure of knowing just where this has been as I’m drinking it.”
Bringing Gen to her feet with a firm hand on her elbow, Lyda straightened Gen’s skirt back down over her hips, not allowing her to do it, and then cupped a hand over Gen’s buttock, giving it an admonishing squeeze.
“Going back to this nonsense about you feeling ‘less’. The only function of your past is to be the building blocks to your future. Whatever parts of your past are in the way of that, bury them like the dead, accept their loss and move on.”
“Is that how you did it?” There was no need to state the obvious—Lyda emanated the self-confidence only a woman who’d accepted all parts of herself could.
“I was born believing the word impossible didn’t apply to me. So far, I haven’t been proven wrong. Time for you to get to work.” Lyda shouldered her purse, flashed her a smile. “I told you I’d keep you safe, and Marguerite will give you the death-stare if you’re running late. Even I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”
Chapter Eleven
A case of cold sodas couldn’t keep Gen’s mind from being like a scrambled egg throughout the workday. Chloe teased her about it, bumping her hip once to knock her out of it. “So is it Mistress Lyda or Noah? Or both?”
Gen made a face at her. “Shoo, annoying fly.”
“You look so happy. Crazy batshit freaked out, but happy too. That’s good, right?”
Gen chuckled. She couldn’t help it. “Yeah, that pretty much describes it.”
“Have you ever wanted to kiss Marguerite? With tongue and everything?”
“What?” Gen bobbled the Brown Betty tea pot she was bringing back to the counter. She put it down abruptly, terrified she would break one of Marguerite’s collectibles. Part of Tea Leaves’ appeal was that the patrons could request service from specific tea sets Marguerite had collected from around the world. While sipping from cups that had graced Victorian parlors, grand Russian dining rooms or Japanese tea houses, they could learn about the set’s history, either from Marguerite herself, or from Gen and Chloe, because part of their training included a thorough history of tea.
Fortunately, Marguerite wasn’t here right now. Beyond the embarrassment of nearly dropping the pot, Gen would have had to see Marguerite’s reaction to the question. Chloe was professional enough to show a certain restraint around customers—and they had a lull in traffic right now—but she was nigh irrepressible with M and Gen.
“Is this the first time you’ve been involved with a girl? I know it’s different, with Lyda being a Mistress, and you really have a three-way thing going, but it feels a little bit like what I’ve always felt between you and Marguerite.”
Gen turned to look at her. Lyda had made her consider the Dom/sub undertones in her relationship to Marguerite, but it surprised her to find Chloe had picked up on it, and connected a sexual element to it as well. Gen felt a moment of alarm. Did she feel…? No. Right?
“It’s different.” She should stop talking, but except for her own relentless internal monologue, Gen hadn’t really sounded it out with a neutral party. And truth, Chloe was her best friend. Her sudden serious look of interest reminded Gen of that.
“Lyda thinks my relationship with M is a symptom of why…it’s working with her. For my part, I don’t know. I don’t know what I am, or if I want to be boxed into a name. Gay or straight, Dom, sub or switch. Even thinking about myself in relation to those labels is new to me, no matter how familiar they feel…deep inside. If that makes sense.”
Chloe nodded. “Yeah. It actually does. When I act as Brendan’s Mistress, some of it feels familiar, like we all do have some of it in us, some inclinations stronger than others, but… Actually, can I tell you something without making you mad at Lyda?”
Gen’s brow raised. “Yes. I think so.”
“The first time I met Lyda was at that BDSM carnival Tyler and Marguerite do each year. Lyda saw me with Brendan, and she didn’t hold back. She made it clear she thought we’d fail, because I couldn’t be what Brendan needed.”
That was a little more than Noah had implied. Despite her assurance, Gen felt a spurt of anger on her behalf, especially seeing the shadow cross Chloe’s face. It told Gen that Lyda had hurt her feelings and cast doubts on her relationship with Brendan, at least at the time. “That’s just stupid. Seeing the two of you together—”
“I know. I know that now. But in a way, it was good to have someone like her question it, because it brought my own worries about it right up to the top to confront them. I wanted Brendan to be happy, and now I know that was what Lyda wanted too. Dommes can be pretty scary-protective o
f those they care about. As if we haven’t noticed.” She tipped her head toward Marguerite’s empty office.
“I figured out that it didn’t matter that I’m not a dyed-in-the-wool Mistress like Marguerite or Lyda. Brendan, the way he treats me, acts toward me, tells me he serves me. That summons the part of me that can give him a more souped-up version of what he needs, when he needs it. And that works for us. How much we love each other is more important than any definition of what either of us is. We can’t imagine a day without the other being a part of it. That’s why it works. It’s fluid, Gen. Don’t let anyone make you think it has to fit into a shoebox. You create the box in which it fits, and that box can change in size and shape, depending on what you put into it.”
When Chloe put her hand on Gen’s, underscoring her earnestness, Gen sighed. “I’ve been married twice, and I never questioned being in a monogamous relationship with a man. I don’t even question it now, because it was what I wanted then, no matter that I made some poor choices. But it was a safe paradigm. Now I’m completely baffled. I can’t stop thinking about either one of them. And not just together. It’s separate and together. But they’re still a package deal in my head, if that makes sense.”
“Sounds exciting and fun.” Chloe slid around the counter, nudged hips again. “I know you like things to be comfortable, and there’s nothing wrong with that, much as I harass you. As long as you’re happy. But this seems to make you happy too. In a thrilling, scary way.”
Gen looped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Yes. I think it does.”
Chloe gave her a sly look. “So have you ever fantasized about Marguerite?”
“No. And I don’t suggest you do it, either. Tyler strikes me as the type to be possessive, regardless of gender.”
“Well, hot as M is, Tyler’s the one I fantasize about. In full color.”
“What red-blooded woman doesn’t? Might as well stop breathing as try not to do that.” Gen said. “Though if you don’t share pictures of Brendan naked and tied up on your bed, I’ll tell M about that morning you sneaked a glance at Tyler bare-assed in the upstairs bedroom when she was doing her yoga in the garden.”
Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace Page 29
