Put Me In a Skirt and Hurt Me: The Strictly Lesbian Adventures of Mistress Sophia (8 page)

Willow knew that wasn’t true, but she let it pass. She was thrilled to have been ordered to return to Sophia’s on Saturday night. The details had intrigued her. She was told exactly what to wear, when to shower, what perfume and makeup to wear, how to enter the apartment, and what position to take once she arrived. The level of detail and the stern tone of Sophia’s commands made the young lawyer giddy with anticipation.

She glanced at Porsche, who was reading
USA Today
with latte foam on her upper lip.

She was having fun with her ... wasn’t she? She certainly
was
coming a lot. But weren’t they supposed to be Sophia’s subs? Besides, when they weren’t fucking what did they have in common? Porsche hated
The Wall Street Journal
. “Where’s the funnies?” she’d complained. “Where’s the horoscope?” Willow responded to quotes from Shakespeare whispered in her ear, not blow-by-blow accounts from
Keeping Up with the Kardashians
. And while Willow liked to shop as much as the next gal, Porsche was so materialistic. The girl practically worshipped at the altar of Barney’s. Now Porsche was jeopardizing what Willow wanted most, which was to be dominated by a beautiful woman, her beautiful woman. Her darling Sophia.

Porsche had read the same sentence five times ...
Fuck this and fuck Sophia! Willow and I were doing just fine without that distraction! I can be dominant ... I can ... top Sophia!

“I’m heading out now ... um ... I won’t be able to see you tonight ... I want to get ready for Saturday.”

A big smile from Porsche. “No problem, sweetie. I was thinking the same thing.”

Fuck Sophia!

12

I
T WAS SATURDAY.

Sophia lay back in her bubble bath, inhaling the scent of tuberose and honeysuckle. She sipped a little Angelica sherry from a tiny hand blown glass and went over the plan for the evening’s festivities. She felt like a woman thrown from a horse who had, until now, been afraid to get back on. Afraid of another big fall, afraid of injury. Now she’d bitch-slapped that horse, ripped off the saddle, and jumped on bareback thrusting spurs into its sides. She was
back
and back with a vengeance. There would be no distraction tonight. There would be no lack of control. There would be simply the most exquisite BDSM experience of the decade.

She raised up, rinsed off, toweled dry, and spritzed some Bulgari Black onto her breasts and pussy, wrists and neck. She inhaled.
Lovely. Divine.
Then she went to her lingerie cabinet and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for: an ensemble so feather light, so sheer ... it was like a whisper of fabric in her hands. She cut off the tags, not looking at the price. She remembered keenly what she’d paid for this tiny scrap of cloth and it still made her wince.
Worth it. Totally, totally worth it.
She slipped into the sheer silk G-string, its small patch at the front encrusted with Swarovski crystals, pearls, and, yes, even tiny diamond chips. The strings around her waist seemed no thicker than a hair, the one up her ass only slightly thicker. She put on the bra, which was of the same sheer fabric, two small triangular patches of silk, and beautiful beadwork that barely covered her nipples. The rest was open string work, crisscrossing her breasts and décolletage, the straps so thin a single snap fastened it in place. She slipped on a pair of vintage stilettos. The beadwork on the shoes mimicked the beadwork on her lingerie perfectly. The shoes were ivory velvet and had never been worn ... not even by Sophia. She’d been keeping them for a very special occasion. Tonight fit the bill. She looked in the mirror.

Totally, totally worth it.

She couldn’t help but thrust her hips forward and back a few times. Sexy underwear did that to her.

She went to the closet and pulled out an ivory silk dress. Long sleeved, high collared, the skirt coming down just below her knees. Stern. Liquid and stern. Just like Sophia.

She was careful with her makeup. Dark eyeliner, a little heavier than her usual, and a dark-red—almost brown—lipstick, then gloss on top. She looked so good she wanted to kiss herself.

She went into the kitchen. Everything was ready.

She went into the living room, the bedroom. All was ready.

She poured herself a glass of Club Soda.

She sipped, and grabbed
Future Shock
off the shelf, whipped it open to where she’d left off the day before, and began to read.

13

“Y
OU HAVE TO GET OUT!
Now
, Porsche! Go!” Willow pushed her busty pal toward the door.

“Really? It’s 2 in the afternoon! We don’t have to be there until 7 ... what the ... ”

“Go! I not only prepare physically but I have to prepare mentally. Don’t you? Now get out!”

“I have to prepare mentally, blah blah blahbettyblah…”
Porsche walked out the door without another word.

Willow stood trembling. “This is not working. This is not working. What the hell have I gotten myself into? What am I going to do?”

She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a Blue Moon beer. She popped the top and made sure to put it in the recycle bin, not the regular trash as she’d seen Porsche do. She took a good slug, then another. She never drank before a session with Sophia—it was prohibited—but right now she needed something to gird her loins and the Blue Moon helped.

She sat down on her bed, glancing over at tonight’s required attire, and burst into tears.

Porsche strolled down the street vigorously.
Like, first I have to picture myself under my mistress and then I have to picture myself in front of my mistress and then I have to picture myself a PIECE OF SHIT!
Tears welled up in her eyes.
And then I have to picture myself ... picture ... ooohh. What the fuck does Sophia have that I don’t have? Why can’t she “prepare” for me?

And then Porsche really started to cry as it hit her like a brick truck.

She was in love with Willow.

Ten minutes before 7.

Sophia closed her book, stretched her legs out straight, reached her arms over her head, and yawned like a cat. She glanced around the room, surveying it carefully, verifying that everything was in place.

She went into the bathroom and reapplied her lipstick, then double-checked that all toys were where they should be. Tonight was going to be ... right. It was going to ... she didn’t know how to put it…it was going to put her back where she belonged. Not to her subs, but to herself. She yearned to have her power back and she knew tonight would do it.

On the stroke of 7, she heard a key in the door and then the sound of it softly shutting behind ... whom? Willow or Porsche? Certainly, it was Willow. She’d never be late. Porsche was proving to be a disappointment. She didn’t take this seriously. If she didn’t show marked improvement, tonight would be the last night she would be invited over. There were plenty of subs out there. It wasn’t worth wasting time on a woman who couldn’t follow protocol.

She glanced at the clock. Two minutes after. By now, Willow would be sitting on the new orange chair in the living room, a Flight Recliner from Design Within Reach. She’d once overheard a woman saying, “Design Within Reach? Within reach for who? RICH FOLKS, that’s who! I can’t even afford the knock-offs!”

For Sophia it was all within reach. And reach she did.

Willow would be straddling the chair, her back straight, each leg thrown over one of the chair’s arms. She’d be open, waiting, her pussy dripping by the time Sophia deigned to enter the room. Her arms would be up over her head, clasping the back of the chair. She’d have on the black hood that had been placed there for her and she’d be wearing a frilly black satin bra and tap pants set. She’d look beautiful.

Seven after. The door opened again and closed rather loudly and then, “Oopsy!”

Porsche had arrived.

14

S
OPHIA TAPPED HER TOE
and waited
.
The girl should be getting herself positioned at the dining table. Lying on the dining table, her arms and legs should be spread out a la Da Vinci’s
Vitruvian Man
. If she’d done it correctly, there should be a pillow under her hips, raising her pussy for display: her pussy couched in red lace panties with slits front and back. Her nipples should be rouged deep red and peeking up over a cupless red lace bra. A red silk blindfold and black rubber ball gag had been left for her to don. Sophia wondered if Porsche had obeyed her.

Porsche lay splayed out on the dining table.
I wonder if she’ll eat sushi off me ... OK, OK, time to drop the sarcasm. I wanted to explore this side of myself ... I need to take this seriously. And, fuck! I am waaay turned on. Where is she?

Sophia entered the living room silently. Sophia loved tap pants. The short extremely loose leg openings provided ample opportunity to attend to the pussy. Now, on Willow, they had fallen to one side and half of Willow’s sex lay exposed. Sophia approached and gently touched Willow’s clit through the thin satin fabric with a wet finger. Willow shivered involuntarily but stilled herself as quickly as possible and didn’t make a sound. Sophia gazed with approval at Willow’s attention to detail. Everything was as Sophia had commanded. And she did look beautiful.

Next, Sophia strolled over to Porsche. She too was as Sophia had ordered—and by this Sophia was mildly surprised. She was prepared to be disappointed in Porsche but the girl was laid out perfectly on a large, black silk-covered pillow, her arms and legs extended, the red lace of her panties just barely covering her pussy. The nipples of her titties, peeping out of the lace, were rosy and hard. Her glossy red lips encircled the black ball of the gag. A tiny smear of red had transferred to the black ball, a little dot just outside Porsche’s mouth, and for some reason the speck made Sophia’s cunt clutch up then release, an unexpected delight.

Sophia ran a fingernail from Porsche’s instep up to her inner thigh. Porsche started to whimper, but caught herself, and clenched the ball gag more firmly in her mouth, tasting the rubber. Sophia’s fingernail dug into the soft flesh of Porsche’s skin just below her panties. Porsche remained motionless and silent. Sophia smiled warmly.

In a box near the dining table were several of the toys Sophia had chosen for this evening. She opened the box and took out some lube and a dildo. The lube was one of those self-warming blends, and Sophia popped the cap and squeezed a small glob onto her fingertips, then she pushed her fingers inside the little red panties and slathered the lube onto Porsche’s lips, pushing them open with her fingers and allowing the lube to work its way around. Then Sophia pinched the lips together and squeezed. Porsche breathed deeply through her nose, her body tense now with anticipation. Sophia lubed up the dildo ... a nice blue one, eight inches long. She placed the tip at the opening of the panties and pushed gently forward. Porsche raised up very, very slightly, but enough for Sophia to withdraw the dildo in punishment. Porsche quickly relaxed her bottom and fell back onto the pillow underneath her. But it was too late, Sophia had moved away.

Willow strained to hear what was happening from under her hood. Her entire body was tingling with tension. She was so ready, so very ready. She heard Sophia’s footfalls, muffled by the Oriental rug, coming toward her.
Oh, yes, sweet Jesus let her be FIRM with me.
Without warning, a dildo was jammed in the tap pants and up her pussy then pulled out and jammed in again and again and again.

“Aaaaaahhhhhhh!” Willow cried in a whisper-scream.

“I’ll allow it.”

The dildo moved in and out and in and out, each time a little deeper, a little meaner.