Which would have been fine if Amie didn’t want to hold Dru’s hand and make out with her so much. And yes, tie her up and beat her and bite her and do all manner of other horrible things to her. But none of those things were as scary as the urge to . . . cuddle.
And then there had been the dream. Not even a kinky dream. A kissing-and-fingering dream, but Amie had orgasmed herself awake and lain in the dark with her heart thumping and her hand pressed against her crotch, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Because that never happened. And it might mean she was either going crazy with lust or simply going crazy in a particularly lusty way. She didn’t really want either one. She hadn’t planned on those things. Or on her previously almost-nonexistent libido to suddenly wake up and decide to have thrilling adventures on its own. No vibrator, no furtive rubbing one off on a sub after a scene . . . just an orgasm, out of the blue. Or startling from a daydream only to realize she was actually wet, in the middle of the day, at work.
She’d gotten all damp and tingly watching Dru beat her ex-girlfriend, too. Which was bizarre and unnerving, but there it was. That was a thing that had happened. Was happening again, as she watched Adam tie Dru up, and found herself wondering if he would charge her for some private shibari lessons. It would be wasted money, since she and Dru were just friends now. Only friends. No benefits. They had shaken on it and everything.
Sadly, that was before Amie had learned that her system apparently involved more orgasms than she’d realized.
And Dru’s system now included secrets.
The audience laughed, and Amie tried to tune back into the demo. Adam was doing some tricky rope-flipping thing, turning a few twists into a beautiful Celtic-looking knot over Dru’s chest. Amie’s fingers itched to try it herself, to feel the contrast between Dru’s silky skin and the rough ropes. To feel Dru’s body relaxing into the bondage, giving herself over to it. She wanted to create that space for Dru.
She knew what Dru would advise, maybe not in this specific instance, but in general. Ask. Ask for what you want. Tell me what you want. Communicate.
Every part of Amie rejected that possibility like a reflex. Because it was bullshit, in her experience.
Communicate to your parents that you aren’t sure you believe in God anymore? Sure, you get some extra attention from Mom and Dad. But then you spend the entire summer, from the day third grade lets out to the day before fourth grade starts, at intensive Jesus camp in another state where you don’t know a single person. And the summer after that, for good measure, and you probably would’ve gone again if you hadn’t come back with an “attitude.”
Tell a girl you want to make out? Oh, you get the kiss. You get to bang her. You even get to smack her ass, and it’s a superb ass. But you lose your family, shit though they may be. You lose your home. Lose your education. Lose your friends. Lose the life you’d always expected to have one day.
Ask for a raise at work? Have a fancy new job title! Of course it comes with brand-new responsibilities and no increase in pay. But at least you get business cards.
Be explicit with a potential partner about what she wanted from them as opposed to what they wanted to do for her? Why would she invite disaster, especially when she’d nearly always been able to get what she wanted in other ways?
Hadn’t she? Because that was the power kick for her, anyway, right? She was literally a pro at it—figuring out exactly what the person could take, then carefully conveying enough veiled skepticism that they would ask for a fraction less. That way, when she pushed them to full capacity, they credited her for taking them places they’d been capable of going all along. Work, the club, it was all the same thing. Only the clothes and equipment changed, and the potential for an occasional orgasm.
People always thought she didn’t play head games like other Doms, but she did. The difference was she played them all up front, then reaped the payoff throughout the scene.
On the dais, Adam was nearly finished crafting his rope cage around Dru’s body, making the final adjustments to the bonds around her legs; Dru’s arms were free, and she kept reaching out to grab the nearest pipe section whenever she started to lose her balance.
“God, this is worse than the heels.”
The spectators chuckled, but quietly. Most of them were fully absorbed in watching Adam work. Many of them leaned forward, craning their necks, tilting their heads, occasionally looking down at the handout, then back up to the stage.
Adam shook his head the next time Dru nearly toppled. “Can somebody— Hey, Mistress Amie, little help?”
She jogged to the platform and hopped up in time to catch the tail end of a mumbled conversation between Adam and Dru, stuff about limits. Adam winked at Amie, then spoke louder for the audience’s benefit.
“Well, my demo partner and I discussed the change in the scene, because of course consent is at the heart of everything we do. And apparently Dru is fine with Mistress Amie ‘touching her wherever,’ so take that as you will.” After the obligatory lascivious noises from the crowd, he turned back to Amie. “For now, if you could help me scoot her away from the pipes, then help her balance, it’ll give me more room to angle her towards them so they can get a better front view of the whole thing. Folks, remember to always make sure your bottom is supported, and/or has their hands free in case of a fall. Everybody’s balance is different.”
The sideways shuffle Dru had to do in the tight web of ropes was pretty amusing. Then Amie had a snap judgment moment. She could hold Dru’s hand . . . or she could stand behind her and steady her by the shoulders or waist.
Adam paused to explain something he was doing in more detail, and Amie slipped behind Dru and ran a hand down the crisscrossed ropes, testing the slack. There wasn’t much, but she found enough room to wrap her fingers around the vertical piece at the small of Dru’s back.
“Gotcha,” she whispered against the shell of Dru’s ear.
And God, Dru made a tiny, almost-inaudible noise, and it sounded like the purest, most concentrated sex imaginable.
Back in college, sex had made Amie do some crazy things. Stay out late at night in dubious company. Try lecherous activities with dark-eyed young women who said pretty words. Go places she’d always been told to avoid—like kinky nightclubs, which were obviously the dens of iniquity she’d heard so much about. If she’d believed in eternal hellfire anymore, she’d basically have chosen that if it meant she could keep exploring this fascinating new world of bodies and sensations and feelings. According to her family, she had chosen that. And for a brief, glorious time, it had seemed worth it.
Then, slowly, a piece at a time, she’d lost the “worth it” part and been left with the harsh reality that her punishment would come in life, and be all too earthly. Scraping herself out of poverty, learning how to get by alone. Navigating a sudden, unexpected transition into an adulthood she hadn’t been prepared for as a privileged twenty-year-old; she hadn’t known anything about bills, or insurance, or what to do when a pipe burst at the apartment where two friends were letting her sleep on the couch. When she’d finally been able to afford a car again, she had learned via ticket that you needed to get those things inspected and reregistered annually. And she’d felt pretty lucky, all things considered; she’d grown up too sheltered, so she’d had to figure out a lot of things through trial and a great deal of error, but it could have been so much worse.
Still, it was little wonder she’d sort of lost interest for a time in frivolities like sex and kinky antics. And if it all seemed different, less exciting somehow, when she did start going back to clubs . . . well, wasn’t that normal? She wasn’t a hormonal college kid anymore. She was a grown-up.
Until Dru had come back—until this moment, really, with her knuckles against Dru’s spine and her face so close to Dru’s neck she could feel the delicate hairs tickling her nose—Amie hadn’t realized what the real difference had been. Even during and after their weird attempt at a scene a few weeks ago, she’d been keyed up,
but she hadn’t registered the truth. That the difference was Dru.
Sure, Amie had pined for her back then, after they’d drifted apart. But she’d been pining for a lot of things at the time. Her dad’s advice about how to deal with a broken pipe. Her chance at a college degree. Her winter coats, because they’d still been back at home in her closet when the shit hit the fan, and her parents had denied her request to come get the rest of her things. More than once during that first year on her own, she’d been pining for food, and too proud to ask for any more handouts from friends. Frankly, missing her ex-girlfriend hadn’t even made the top five.
Now, though . . . it was like a switch had been flipped back on that she hadn’t even realized was off. That she hadn’t even realized existed.
The words “stone butch” danced through her mind, but this time a new word came chasing after them. “Demisexual.” It was in neon, with giant flashing arrows pointing to it, and it was so obvious that Amie actually said, “Oh,” out loud.
“Mmm?” Dru leaned back against her slightly.
“Nothing. Shh.” Amie played her thumb over Dru’s skin, stroking . . . then raking her nail across the same line, not too hard. Dru’s hair was up in a high ballerina bun, exposing her entire neck in a temptation too great to resist. Amie finally dropped a feathery kiss among the baby wisps at Dru’s hairline, and was rewarded with a shiver and a soft sigh that gave her the courage to lean forward and whisper into Dru’s ear. “I really want to learn to do this. To you. Can we give it one more chance?”
For what seemed like forever, but couldn’t have been because Adam had only said a few words in the meantime, Dru didn’t respond. And maybe she wouldn’t, and Amie could understand that, because this hadn’t been the time or place. Maybe there was no appropriate time or place, and it was too late, and she was about to learn yet another important life lesson about how stupid it was to tell people what you wanted.
But then she felt Dru sigh again, and heard that concentrated sex noise again, and as Adam stood up, she heard the best two syllables of her life up to that point.
“Okay.”
Dru had goose bumps on her boobs, and she wasn’t sure if they were caused by the temperature in the empty club, or by what Amie was doing with the rope. Sadly, the former seemed more likely at the moment.
Doing the scene at the club was probably silly, because they’d already seen each other’s apartment, and they still had a lot of Mystery Dinner cans to get through, so they’d probably go on seeing each other’s apartment. They were kind of past the need for neutral territory. But Dru had suggested the club, either by reflex or from some subconscious impulse, so history was sort of repeating itself.
Sort of.
Less awkward, this time around. For one thing, Amie was still using an instruction manual to do “the rope things,” so there was a lot of stopping and starting, and she was really having to concentrate more on the ropes than on Dru. That should have ruined the flow; instead it made everything seem more casual. Less like a scene, more like two friends hanging out and trying to put together an IKEA bookcase.
Every so often, Amie would look up and give her an apologetic smile. After what felt like the tenth or so time, Dru shook her head and sighed, frowning. The goose bumps were definitely only from the cool air. “Aren’t you gonna at least slap my ass a few times? Pull my hair? Something?”
Amie’s jaw dropped. “Are you telling me what to do?”
“I’m merely offering helpful suggestions.”
“You are totally topping from the bottom, Stasevich. Wow, it really has been a long time since you subbed, hasn’t it?”
Dru laughed. “It’s a long time since you called me Stasevich. Templeton.”
They grinned at each other. Amie shook her head. “If I hadn’t spent so much on this damn rope, I assure you I’d cut it off you right now and start whipping your insolent butt with it.”
The rope was beautiful, though, a gorgeous deep-burgundy color. And one bundle Amie hadn’t used yet, that looked dip-dyed—every shade of pinkish red from that same burgundy to a pale rose. “That would be a shame. I’ll try to keep my mouth shut. Uh, except to mention you did that last loop backwards, I’m like ninety-percent sure.”
“Shit. Yeah, you’re right.” Amie pulled the rope back too fast, making Dru wince at the sudden burn. “Sorry, sorry.”
“Ah, thank you. I’m not as sorry. But a little warning next time.” The pain had struck a chord, brought heat not only to that spot on the back of her shoulder, but to her nipples and all the way up to her ears.
Amie registered the change like a predator picking up a scent. Her smile turned catlike, her eyes narrowed as she focused on Dru’s hardening nipples. This time, as she rethreaded the rope correctly, she let her hands linger, her short nails scratching here and there as she worked. The scratching was only with her left hand, Dru noticed. The nails on her right were clipped and filed so short that no white showed at the tips. Either she was still biting them, or she’d made plans to use them for something other than leaving claw marks.
To Dru’s surprise, Amie had brought that point up explicitly during their prescene negotiation. Well, explicitly for Amie. “I would also like for there to be orgasms and whatever. For both of us.”
“Whatever?” Dru had still been trying to hide her shock at Amie raising the topic of orgasms without prompting.
“Sex . . . things?”
At a public play party, Dru had once overheard Amie negotiate putting a pig plug in a guy’s ass during a scene, pegging him via the plug with a strap-on, and telling him in detail what he would have to do to earn having another guy blow him while that was taking place. One of the few times Amie had actually played with other regulars at Escape during the past few weeks had involved helping another two tops with an extensive scene in the wet room involving five subs, enemas, speculums, and a clean-up job that had taken them three times as long as the scene itself.
But with just the two of them, after knowing each other for over ten years in every possible sense of the word “know,” the best Amie could do was “Sex . . . things”?
Dru had clamped down on her initial reaction and simply nodded, then held up a hand and ticked off options on her fingers. “Okay, then. Manual stimulation, external?”
“Yes.”
“Digital penetration?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Barriers?”
Amie had actually blushed. “I brought gloves.”
“Fantastic.” Holy shit. “Penetration with toys?”
“Sure. Well . . . no, I didn’t bring any. Fuck, I should have—”
Dru had bulldozed right past the hesitation. “Oral?”
“Uh . . . yeah?”
Should I wait for more enthusiasm, or . . . nah, don’t lose momentum. Deal with it later. Ask about dental dams later. “Any anal play on the agenda for today?”
“Nah.” Amie had shrugged like they were discussing which restaurant to go to and she’d already had a heavy lunch so the decision wasn’t that important to her either way. “Unless you’re really counting on it, I guess.”
Not wanting to push her luck, Dru had mirrored the shrug and declined the butt stuff. She’d confirmed that all the possible activities they’d discussed were potentially reciprocal in nature. And then she’d stripped to her skin and they’d started with the rope, and things had cooled down, but now all Dru could think about were those neatly trimmed nails and how much she wanted Amie’s fingers inside her. Stroking in and out, circling her clit . . .
Amie was playing the long game, though. Or chickening out. Or getting distracted by the rope instructions again. She was mostly finished with the chest harness/boob-framing thing she’d been working on, but the finishing twists at the back seemed especially tricky.
Dru felt more exposed with the ropes on than she had naked. Needy, too. Normally it took more than a few scratches and a few seconds of eye-fucking to get her this worked up, but something abo
ut being tied always heightened her arousal. Even when she was the one inflicting the pain, as she and Padma had discovered during a brief flirtation with ropes. And . . . fuck, there it was. This time, though, the memory didn’t hit as hard. She’d been half expecting it. Forewarned was forearmed. And it was a good memory, of a fun time. Giggling their way through a beginner’s instruction manual a lot like the one Amie was using. Trying to untangle the ropes the next time they wanted to use them, and finally deciding to spend that evening watching a Simpsons marathon and learning how to properly wrap and store rope.
“You doing okay up there?” Amie asked from the region of Dru’s waist. She’d knelt to get closer to the last knot, but now she gave it a final tug, stood, and announced, “Ta-da! And the crowd goes wild!” She made mock roaring-crowd noises.
Dru looked over her shoulder, then turned around. Amie was cheering herself, hands clasped in triumph over one shoulder, then the other. At any moment, Dru expected her to break into an actual cheer. R-O-P-E, restrain your sub for vic-tor-y! Or maybe one of those sideways hurdle-jump things, which Dru had learned was called a Herkie. Why, she had no idea. But she’d enjoyed watching Amie practice that among many other cheerleading moves.
“Can you still do that thing,” she asked, “where you put one leg straight up in the air by your ear?”
Amie stopped applauding herself and blinked a few times, looking like she was pondering it. “Right this second?”
“Well, no. You’re not stretched out.”
“Oh. Yeah, I can still do that in general. I can still do the split roll too. You always loved the split roll.”
Dru had indeed always loved the split roll. “But it gave you that bad carpet burn when you did it for me naked, so.”
“Your place in college had some really cheap carpet. I put up with my current place only so I don’t have to move back to a place like that.”
“You could look into a condo. They’re really pretty nice.”
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