Page 23 of The Dommes

This is our second chance, and I’m not botching it up!

“Just a sec!” Ira doubles back to her bag pushed beneath her desk. I hesitate, my clothes half off as I try to keep the mood alive as she hastily rummages for something in the bottom of her bag. “Trust me, it’s important.”

“You know,” I say with little regard for how it sounds, “most prince charmings keep a condom in their wallet or one of those little metal things that–”

“This isn’t that! It’s for my… you know!”

The fact she’s flustered calling her prosthetic anything out loud in front of me is kinda cute. “Hurry it up, because I needed you humping me like ten minutes ago!”

“Oh, you don’t think I know?”

Her voice is slightly shrill. Behold, the multitudes of octaves one person has to unleash depending on the situation: from husky and seductive one second, to hilariously shrieky the next.

I lean against the wall, pulling open my blouse and tugging on my hem. “I’m assuming you still want this?”

“For the love of…”

She finally finds what she’s searching for. Whatever she has to do to get her prosthetic ready, she does in record time. Maybe that’s why Stephanie Freakin’ May was able to be all over it in Midnight – and why I’m about to be wrapped all around it, God willing.

Fuck, I’m dying!

And that’s a smoking hot smolder coming right at me from the other side of the room.

“Kathleen!” I delight in my name as she pushes me against the wall, her mouth on my throat and her hands all over me. There’s nothing to brace myself against. Nothing to sit on, nothing to lean with… just this damned wall. I feel like a teenager again, wearing my gala dress as the hottest co-ed around pulls it up, pulls it down, releases me to her hungry, horny eyes, and anticipates me way too much. Yet I’m able to capture that feeling I had twelve years ago. The sheer amount of want I experienced. Even now, as Ira finds the fortitude in her lust to dump out her wallet and produce a tiny metal box that holds a single condom. Always ready. And me, always right about these things.

Like hell she gets the honors.

I snatch the condom from her hand, rip it open, and press the rubber opening against the head of her now erect prosthetic. Yes, I see now what she was so panicked about only a minute ago. One day, when I’m not swept up in the tide of lust, I’ll ask her how it works, because God knows I’m curious. But not now.

When my hand comes back up, I unbutton the rest of Ira’s shirt, marveling at how delicate her chest is. She’s not binding, nor wearing a bra. She doesn’t have to today, I suppose. Yet I’m enraptured by her physique, her perfect proportions. A shudder tickles my lips as I kiss Ira there, lifting my leg while she pulls down my pants far enough to expose my ass to the wall. Fuck it! I’m taking them off.

After I kick off my trousers, Ira shoves my leg against the wall. I’m exposed. Although I’m still covered by my underwear, it means nothing when one finger pulls them aside and dips into my wetness. My head tilts up, and I’m staring at the ceiling.

It’s insanity.

Moans leave my body as Ira’s mouth traverses my chest, her tongue flicking against my nipples and becoming intimate with the cleavage between my breasts. Both are pushed into her face, Ira burying herself in them, her driving need for me so great that she’ll revel in anything she encounters.

She spreads apart my opening. Oh God, oh fuck, it’s rubbing against my clit, and my wetness damns me, right down my thighs, and probably leaving evidence of our hookup all over this office. My arms are wrapped tight around Ira, my hands clutching her shoulder, her cheek, and my mouth searching for hers.

I want her so tight around me that I completely forget where we are or what we’re supposed to be doing.

“What are you waiting for?” I say, attempting to penetrate myself with something that is her, but not her, but also totally her. “Fuck me.”

All I hear is a determined groan, and then my back is slammed against the wall, my leg held out…

And Ira Mathison takes me.

I can’t hold in my cry of surprise. I thought I was ready. I thought I was so wet already that nothing else mattered. I was wrong. I was super fucking wrong.

It hurts at this angle, and I don’t care. The silicone extension of Ira’s gender is stiffer than the rod she jammed inside of it, and now it’s spreading me apart, forcing its way up and in, pushing aside anything in its way as it awkwardly settles inside me. My eyes are wide open, my mouth wordlessly screams, and my breath is caught in my chest. That is until Ira pulls out, slowly, the prosthetic covered in my arousal and more replacing what she just took.

And she slams it back in.

Let’s be fair. I asked for this. I told her to fuck me, and that’s exactly what she’s doing. She’s impaling me against the wall. She’s not only deep inside of me, but her prosthetic is reaching higher, pushing so far that her strength alone is enough to hold me there as she raises my other leg. Oh fuck. Oh FUCK. My feet aren’t on the ground. The only thing keeping me steady is her holy shit oh God what is this talent and her hands holding me up beneath my knees.

Never in my whole slutty life has anyone held me up against the wall like this!

I hold onto her shoulders, my body completely at her whim as she thrusts into me, my body lifting the dam until it’s all smooth sailing down there. I witness the serene carnality on her face. I hear the sounds of our union, that rhythmic, erotic movement of our bodies that is only matched by the whimpers in my mouth and the groans in Ira’s throat.

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