Page 106 of The Dommes

It happened once before. Why couldn’t it happen again?

“The best part is knowing I’m going to be the first one to do this to you.” Ira sits me on the edge of her bed, hands cupping my face as she looks down upon me. “I’m honored.”

She continues to pet my face as I sit here before her, drinking in the delightful sight of her. Tall, proud, strong. Ira’s wearing a more casual suit, the kind that’s cut to her body, probably made by the old tailor here in town. Her pants are so crisp that they move with the utmost grace. Her shirt, a very light rose that only enhances her androgyny, clings to her torso in such a way that I know she’s binding beneath. In true Ira Mathison fashion, she has left the top two buttons undone. I can’t stop staring at it…

Just how much do I want her to overpower the fuck out of me?

“Katie…” Ira’s hands squeeze the back of my head, tipping it back and making me open to her lowering mouth.

She’s practically inhaling me!

I’ve never felt her so famished before. She’s devouring my lips, suppressing my tongue in the bottom of my mouth, and making me feel so isolated and small that I don’t feel like there’s a world outside of this room at all. Every time I slip into the scene we craft, I bring myself back, panicking, my moans both a reflection of my status in this relationship and my denial that I love this.

It’s okay, Kathleen. It’s okay to love this.

A grunt falls down my throat, and Ira steps back, leaving me disheveled on her bed. She looks me over. Her grin makes me shudder.

“I’ve thought a lot about what I want to do to you.” Fingers dance in my hair, and at first, I think she’s going to undo my twist… but her fingertips make nice with the corner of my mouth, the place she assaulted with that powerful tongue of hers – I know where I’d like it to go next. “In the end, it wasn’t about what I wanted as much as your needs as the woman I’m training.”

Training. That word hits me right in the gut.

“Are you prepared to obey my every command tonight, Katie?”

I nod. “Yes, Mistress.”

Whenever I say that word, ripples course through her. Damn. She likes it that much?

“Good. Now let me see some of your skin.”

Ira opens my jacket, nails scratching against my chest. She draws a trail along my shoulder, keeping my chin up so our gazes meet. Hers is so calm. So determined and resolute.

I have no idea what mine is like.

“Go on, darling. Adore me.”

What a strange thing to request. Most dominants would simply say what body part they wanted treated because I’m under no disillusionment that Ira means anything else. Ira isn’t most dominants, though. She’s a Domme who isn’t afraid to voice her wants. She’s gone through life building up the kind of indestructible confidence that the most gender-conforming adults envy.

And I understand what she means.

I told you, I like to feel worshipped as a Domme. I want to feel adored too! My sub is fated to cater to my every whim like a royal subject. I am privileged. I am worthy of sheer adoration. When your identity is wrapped up in praising someone else for existing… ha! What an easy life, indeed.

My hands caress the inside of her thighs, urging her closer, calculating how I’m going to do this unless she tells me otherwise. I’m comfortable. Comfortable enough to welcome chills down my spine as I run my tongue across my incisors and wonder if it would be a punishable offense to ask for flavored lube. I know she has some around here. If you have as much casual sex with people as we do, you like to stock up on anything they might request in the bedroom. Like vanilla-flavored lube, my personal favorite…

I think about what else she probably keeps next to her lube.

“Relax, Katie.” The way she strokes my hair is hypnotic. “No surprises. I’ll let you know what’s happening every step of the way.”

Although it relaxes me, I still take my time unzipping her pants and feeling the silk sheen of her boxers. I love her tastes in underclothes and would tell her so in any other context of lovemaking. Yet this isn’t the time. She wants me to pay attention to what’s going on inside her boxers. And, oh, am I acquainted by now… with every facet that makes Ira Mathison who she – and they – is.

Because even though that’s silicone in my hand, that’s her natural scent overpowering everything else. I press my nose against her soft mound and gently kiss the even softer spot between her navel and my hand. All so I can inhale her scent, infused with her need for me.

I can’t help it. I’m aroused that she’s already this aroused.

I take my time. A large part of me wants to squeeze the Avalon, careful to avoid the delicate trigger, while searching for her tender skin beneath the prosthetic. Think of all the things you could do to her, my subconscious says as I ponder my options. But I have to remind myself that this isn’t a normal night of sex. That’s what I would do without this collar on. The collar pulling at the hairs on my neck and reminding me of the delectable pain Ira might deliver.

Moaning against her skin, I’m suddenly reminded why I’m here.

“Fuck, Katie.” Ira clutches my twist and holds me down on her. I get the message loud and clear. “You’re amazing at this. I bet you’ve pleasured a lot of people, huh?”

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