It made more sense than I’d like it to. Spidery itches and razorblade kisses. I took another swig of wine. “So Raven’s your dominant?”
“She’s my mistress, yeah. There are a few others in Explicit I play with, but I belong to her.”
Rebecca appeared behind Cara, wrapping her in possessive arms, and I watched transfixed as Cara turned to her, opening her mouth to welcome Rebecca’s tongue. Their kiss was deep and wet, the dominant woman yanking Cara’s hair until she melted to her touch, her back arching as Rebecca claimed more and more of her.
“Good girl, Cara,” Rebecca purred. “I’ll think you’ll get the paddle this evening, make your pretty little ass all pink for me.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” Cara smiled. “I was just telling Cat about Explicit. She should come.”
“I’m not sure Explicit is Cat’s scene,” Rebecca said. I caught the reluctance in her eyes.
“She won’t know if she doesn’t try.”
“Enough now, Cara. Know your manners.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
It seemed the conversation was officially over. My regret at that fact surprised me.
***
I lay in bed, as wide awake as I could ever be. I’d made my excuses, vanishing out of sight while my housemate mauled her girlfriend just feet away. She’d pinned her the minute we landed through the door, forcing Cara over the kitchen worktops and hitching her dress up all the way to the waist. I’d seen a lot more than I probably should have, but neither seemed to give a shit, oblivious to my presence as Cara bucked against Rebecca’s advances, yelping little whines as slaps landed hard in tender places.
Noises cut loud through the closed bedroom door. Still. Quiet. Lower, Cara, bend fucking lower. Hold out your tits, Cara, nice and still. Those nipples need pain, baby, they need so much pain. I tried not to listen, tried not to wonder what the hell was really happening in there, tried to think about anything but violent sex and how it would feel to be in Cara’s shoes. I told myself I wouldn’t like it, that Lydia Marsh is no submissive, she’s too goddamn rigid for all that shit. I told myself I’d be too reserved, too self-conscious, too uptight. I told myself I didn’t want to try it at all, but it was a lie. It had to be a lie, because I was burning up in my bed, clammy with nerves and adrenaline, and although I didn’t want to face it, I was horny as hell.
Spread it for me, Cara, show me your tasty little slit. Yeah, sweet girl, that’s it, look how swollen you are. I’m gonna make you feel so good.
I kicked the covers away and stared at the ceiling. It didn’t work. Nothing I did felt comfortable, not until I gave in to the urge and let my fingers wander between my thighs. I was wet, sodden through my knickers. I pulled the fabric aside enough to reach my clit and it felt so goddamn tender it took my breath away. I played quickly, desperate to orgasm, strumming my fingers as fast as I could just to lurch myself over the edge. I came harder than I had in years, jerking and wheezing out expletive streams of pent-up frustration. It felt raw, it felt right. It felt crazy fucking good.
I came down slowly, orgasm-high and floaty, ragged breath loud in the silence.
The silence.
Shit.
It was quiet enough to hear the footsteps outside my door.
***
Lydia
Cara had gone in the morning. I wrapped my satin robe tight around my waist and met Rebecca in the kitchen. She made me a coffee without prompting.
“Crazy night, huh?”
I smiled. “A little crazier than I’m used to.”
“It gets a whole lot crazier than that.”
She was already dressed for work, skinny black jeans and a tight red t-shirt. Queen Bitch, it said. She sure was.
“Cara didn’t stay?”
She shook her head. “We rarely do the whole cuddle-through-the-night thing.”
“I hope I didn’t piss on your parade. You know, by being here.”
“You can piss on my parade any day, baby. Just say the word.” She cackled her trademark cackle.
“She seems nice.”
“She’s sweet... cute... uber-fuckable. Low tolerance though, life’s a bitch.”
“Low tolerance?”
“Can’t take much of a beating. More a slap and tickle, it’s nice, but sometimes a girl needs a little more from her sub.”
I grinned at her. “Sounded more than a slap and tickle to me.”
She put down her coffee, stared me out straight. “So, what did it sound like?”
I looked away, caught out. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. It just carried, you know¸ through the wall.”
“And how did it sound... through the wall?”