Page 22 of The Dommes

All kissing stops, but her grip is as firm as ever on my thigh. “Let me prove to you that I’m a worthy lover.”

Since she won’t kiss me, I kiss her. The air is warm, but not as warm as it is against her lips. Ira’s hand is halfway down my pants, her fingers riling me up for the main event, whenever that supposedly happens. I won’t say no to a hottie like Ira touching my clit in the office.

You’d think I was a virgin from how I miscalculated the width of her fingers. She’s not even inside of me, but I’m moaning because holy fuck one finger alone is enough to fill the space between my folds. She chuckles into my ear when she discovers how wet I must be. So stupidly smug, and I don’t care, because now the smugness is turning me on.

I want Ira to get drunk on how wet I am for her. I want her to marvel at my hard nipples and the heat pouring from every part of my body. Fuck me here, fuck me there, I don’t care! Of course, I want her to fuck me where it counts most. All week I have been fantasizing, in my chair, in my bed, in my shower… fantasizing about this woman right here making me feel things that I’m not supposed to feel for another dominant type.

I know she’s not submissive. She’s not going to submit to me. I’m fine with that, once in a while. Sometimes, even a Domme wants someone like her to split her in two and take her, pieces and all. The right person, anyway.

Once again, I remind myself that this isn’t BDSM. This is plain ol’ hot sex. It doesn’t matter who is on top, as long as we both get off as hard as possible.

“Ira,” I murmur, delighting in how fun her name is to say. She glances at me, but her eyes would rather feast on my breasts poking out from my blouse and on her fingers slipping in and out of my pants, wetter, wetter, dripping. “I need to fuck you.”

It must be the Domme in me. Making my intentions clear like that. I look into Ira’s eyes, which are whirling in lust… lust for me. Yup. I made the right decision by getting vocal because she knows that I want to fuck her. She knows that I’m waiting for the right moment to jump on top of her and get lost in the labyrinth of our lust.

“Going farther than this,” I begin, my hand clutching her crotch, “means we’re fucking.”

Her teeth tug on my earlobe, her hand pushing so hard against my slit that she must know I’m ready for whatever she throws my way. I’m so relaxed that none of our awkward positions or the discomfort from the chair beneath my ass bothers me. So consumed with my need for sex, and all I can think about is getting this woman naked and hearing her come.

My hand barely on her hips. I don’t have small hands.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ira hisses in my ear, drawing her hand away and showing me how wet her fingers are. As I press mine against her stomach and pull her pants low enough to see what I’m working with, she pushes her fingers into my mouth, and all I taste is the salt of her skin and the sweet familiarity of me.

I push my tongue between her fingers, hearing her groan. An image of me bending down and pretending that I know what I’m doing with an everyday prosthetic enters my mind. Suddenly, I am taken back to a week ago, watching Stephanie May act like this wasn’t her first time at the rodeo. For God’s sake, she was having the time of her life with this thing!

That’s it. The reason I was so annoyed watching Ira Mathison get attention from a hot blonde was because I still had yet to get mine from her.

Ira Mathison owes me.

How to do it? The easiest thing would be to straddle her lap and have her thrust up into me, letting gravity pull my hips down onto her as the table bumps into my ass. I love riding. I love feeling someone between my legs as I hold onto their shoulders and chest and slam myself against whatever I can find. I love the freedom it gives me, even when they’re sitting down. I can be wild in my movements and bask in my own carnal glory as my lover’s eyes roll back. Some of the best orgasms of my life have come from me riding a bucking bronco.

But I want more. It’s not enough to slip into Ira’s lap and feel her fill me. If we’re doing this, then I want to be consumed. I want…

I want to feel her all around me. I want it to be how it was supposed to be twelve years ago, regardless of the kind of sexual creatures we are now.

There’s the table here. I could sit on it, legs open. My arms will hold me up, but I will have to rely on her to pinch my nipples and stroke my stomach. Or we could take over Annie’s poor little desk in the corner. Let the room prop me up while Ira pounds into my pussy and completely loses herself. God, that sounds so fucking good!

I’m about to suggest we take this party elsewhere, when her voice is inside my ear, pushing away my thoughts and plummeting toward my gut. “I can’t stop thinking about bending you over this table and taking you.”

Shivers claim me. I haven’t been bent and fucked in a long, long time. It’s not my style. It’s too submissive for me. If my partner isn’t beneath me, I want to at least be able to look into their eyes. Bending over the table would be too…

Nevertheless, the way Ira said it thrills me. I want more dirty talk like that.

“What else do you want to do to me?” I whisper, my hand desperately attempting to figure out if there’s some way to make this silicone prosthetic anything but soft. My thumb moves behind it and finds her mound. If I were still trying to seduce her, I’d tease her clit and discover her flavor. Fuck, I want to know what her wetness tastes like…

Not now.

Ira takes me by the chin and turns my head toward hers, lips mauling mine as her tongue threatens to choke me. More wetness covers my finger as my hand is trapped between her hot slit and her prosthetic. She tenses. Her breath hitches.

Don’t do it, Ira. Don’t come now. Your fantasies aren’t anywhere near as good as the real thing I offer you!

“I don’t care what I fucking do to you, Kathleen. I just want to do it. Right now. Holy shit, do I need to do it right now.” Her groan is telling. “Anything you want, Katie.” She clutches the underside of my breast and holds it up, her lips diverting from mine and onto my nipple. The woman is worshipping me. She’s not submissive, but she’s worshipping me, and I want to die.

We both say it at the same time.

“The wall.”

I’m up. She’s up. Yes, yes, this is the only way we can do it. This is the only way we can move on with our lives, after holding this small grudge with each other for over a decade. I promise that I won’t be angry if the same unfortunate thing happens again. This is as much my redemption as it is hers.

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