Page 33 of Slippery When Wet

Skin crackles. Her pussy hisses. She groans.

Swoosh!

I pause in between sets—the number of seconds, minutes, between lashings. I tell her how beautiful she is. Let her know how much I adore her, how much I love seeing her splayed pussy open and wet, red and on fire. When I am done flogging her, I uncuff her. Her right hand slides between her legs. She starts to strum. I watch her. Then close my eyes. Breathe in the slick clickety-click sound her finger makes in her wet folds. I hear and smell her arousal.

She moans.

I open my eyes. My mouth waters at the sight before me. Her turgid sex—wet and swollen and welted, is a vision of ecstasy. It causes my own desires to lick her cunt to churn beneath my skin, hot.

My own pussy starts to drip.

She begs for it again—the dueling sensation of pain and pleasure lapping at her soaking wet sex. She shakes with need, tightly wrapping her hands around the chains, hanging overhead.

I give her what she wants.

Then, with her eyes glazed, I abruptly pull back the flogger, then stalk over to her and lean in between her legs. Her slick clit thickens against my tongue. I flick it. Flick it, again. Then capture it in my mouth, lightly between my teeth. The smell of her arousal fills my nose. I take my time. Tasting her. Tracing the tip of my tongue over her labia and clit in long, slow, swirls.

Who am I, you ask?

I am Laila Reynolds.

A lesbian.

A lover of pussy.

I am the Cum Master.

Two

“My pussy aches for your touch,” the female voice on the other end of the phone says, breathing heavily. Her tone is lusty and thick with urgency. I’d know her warm, honey-coated voice anywhere. It’s Samantha Willis or, in this case, Invoice 21348 aka Miss Creamy. “Can I see you today?”

“And what would you like, my darling?” My tone is sultry and hot. The caller starts panting. She has called into the 800 number located on the CONTACT page of my website, Cum Master. A website I created over two years ago after sifting through hundreds of sex sites that catered to lesbian and bi-curious women and realizing that there were a countless number of strong, confident, beautiful women, like myself, who secretly craved surrendering control, who wickedly fantasized about being submissive and unyielding in their quests for unadulterated and blissful pain. The kind of pain that makes them scream out and flinch and thrash about, clutching sheets and gnashing teeth, begging and pleading as they orgasm.

And through my website, Cum Master, I cater to those same women who love the sweet sting of a whip licking their clits and slits, or the thud-thud of a paddle paddling their pussies, then having a warm tongue lapping up the sweet juices that have gathered around their swollen pussy lips.

Women who spend their days and nights daydreaming and fantasizing, careening between salacious thoughts and forbidden desires, pleasure and pain, their trust, their orgasms, their throbbing bliss…all at the mercy of me.

And—with an assortment of floggers, paddles, leather belts, vibrators, dildos, and my long, warm tongue, I deliver—um, after I’ve collected their payment for my services—the best fucking orgasms these women will ever experience, one lick at a time.

I cross my legs. “Are your panties wet?”

“Yes. Soaked.”

I smile. I imagine her cum-stained panties sticking to her lust-drenched hole. The scent of her cunt, warm and wet, wafting through the air, slowly drifting through the vents at her office building where she is calling me from. “I want to stuff them in your mouth, then…” I pause, snatching back her moment of fantasy.

“Then what?”

“Tell me how you want me to touch your pussy?”

Her breath catches. “Surprise me.”

“Take ’em off. Your panties.”

“I can’t. Not right now.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m at…” Her voice trails off. “Hold on. Let me go into another room.”

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