Page 230 of The Dommes

Somebody save us.

“None of that matters now.” The crop lands on the floor beside my feet. Ira unties me from the bench, stands me up, and turns me toward the audience. I feel like a meat shield. “Because at the end of the day, you’re still my sub, and you belong to me.”

I sink to my knees. Ira holds my arms up. My ass is so sore I can barely lean on it.

“Do you hear that?” Ira’s voice is so loud that it shakes me to my core. Or maybe I’m hyper-sensitive to everything going on now. “It doesn’t matter what you think of us. Because we only need each other.”

Her hands cover my chest, my throat, the bottom of my face. No matter what, I’m touched by Ira, the one who has declared her love for me and her intent to possess every part of my being.

Yeah, I think I could keep her for a while. The rest of my life, sure.

“This woman is mine. I’ll spend however long it takes to free her from the guilt and shame she feels deep inside. In turn, I’m sure she’ll purge me of my insecurities too.”

The audience is silent.

“What do you think, Katie? Are you up for the challenge?”

Somehow, through the pain and the burning agony of my guilt, I say, “I thought you would never ask… Mistress.”

She pulls me up, my arms looping around her neck as she bends me down and kisses me, hard. Here we are, two fucked up people trying to make the best of our personalities and situation. We know it will be hard. We know there will be moments where our attitudes clash and we’ll need to cool off for a while. I’ll feel insecure and she’ll overcompensate. But, you know, there is no such thing as the perfect couple. I think we’re pretty darn close, though.

So does the audience, who politely applauds.

As my leg brushes against Ira’s, she lifts me off the ground and hauls me off the stage. I may have my initials emblazoned in bigass letters on her back, but right now I solely belong to her and rely on whatever comfort she can give me.

You know, like crazy intense sex.

Ira doesn’t wait to get us a room. This is the person who didn’t bother to pick up our clothes we dropped on the stage. Nope. She’s taking me to an empty hallway near the restrooms, where I’m shoved against the wall, my legs spreading around her waist, and the prosthetic driving into me once the crotch of my corset is opened.

We’ve come full circle. From the closet of the gala twelve years ago, to that corner in her family’s office building, Ira and I have the kind of sex we’re best accustomed to. Her, taking me against the wall, and me, encouraging her to worship every part of my body.

You know that cliché about how two people seem physically made for each other? Well, I won’t give you any lines about how she fucks me so perfectly that it’s like she was blessed with that damned talent. I won’t tell you that the way she thrusts, holds me, and plants her lips on mine is the exact way I love and need. I won’t even tell you that hearing and seeing her become so consumed with me is like ascending the stratosphere and marching my way to heaven.

I won’t tell you these things because they are cliché and trite. That, and I don’t really believe that two people are “made” for each other. I believe that we find each other through happy accidents. Like the happy accident that made me born the privileged daughter of a multi-millionaire, now a billionaire. Or the happy accident that was Ira’s mother inviting me to work on a project with her daughter, someone I’ve fancied for a long time but never thought to pursue.

Thank God she held my hand that night.

“Ira!” My sore ass is slammed against this wall but shit I don’t care. I’m wet, I’m ready, and for the love of everything quaking inside me, I need her to finish every job she started twelve years ago. For fuck’s sake, I let her fuck my ass!

Her tongue meanders from my mouth to my throat. Her thrusts are slow, yet she’s still merciless, pounding me as my nails sink deep into her bare skin. I’m about to scream.

Instead, I let out three consecutive wails of tortured pleasure. My core clenches around the Avalon, and I swear to fucking Aphrodite or whatever bitch is in charge of this shit that I’m not letting go until she gives me release.

I’m not disappointed.

Hey, maybe it’s me. As in maybe it’s me being so irresistible that this person, who has declared their love for me very publicly, comes the hardest I’ve ever heard her. Not just her voice, either. I’m drenched by her sweat, my body opening more to take what she’s giving me. If I purged myself out there with a crop, then she’s here purging herself with my pussy. Can’t say I find that unfair.

Quite the opposite. It’s so seriously hot that after a second I’m screaming, my head smacking against the wall as I hold onto her shoulders for dear life. I’m convinced I’m going to fall to the floor, even though the one who was stupid enough to fall in love with me has me held fast against the wall for the sole purpose of fucking me senseless in the only way she knows how.

The last thing I taste is her tongue on mine. The last thing I hear is her languished groan as she finally comes down from her orgasmic high.

“Fuck it all,” Ira groans, slamming her hand against the wall as her head falls against my shoulder. “I’m in chaos.”

“Aw, my poor baby.” Even though I’m sore, even though I’m exhausted, I get back on my knees and lift the prosthetic as far as it can go, giving me just enough access to her wet mound beneath. She tastes like sweat and sex. I love it.

Ira grunts from the overstimulation so soon after a hard orgasm. I’m gentle, avoiding her most sensitive areas. She stiffens a little, but not enough for me to think she wants to have sex again. That’s more than fine. As her sub, I’m more than happy to serve her like this without expecting any reciprocation.

Hey, I mostly do it out of love.

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