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  • Yes, Virginia Ch. 02

Yes, Virginia Ch. 02

12

Chapter 2 : Pixie.

I suppose a little scene-setting is overdue. When you came through my door, you found yourself in a bare windowless anteroom: one wooden chair, one set of drawers; plain lino floor; no pictures or mirrors; no shades on the light bulbs. To the left a door led into the headmistress' study, which did have windows but the curtains were always drawn when I was working. Those two rooms we've already met.

Behind the anteroom was a short corridor with one door leading off each side and one at the end. On your left was a sparkly-clean space with lighting bright enough to make you blink: a large shower in one corner and a medical exam room set-up opposite. There were also a couple of doors which were absolutely private to me, leading to the toilet and the tiny converted cleaner's cupboard where I kept fridge, kettle and microwave. Across the corridor from the white room lay the black, my dungeon. That probably doesn't require description, it was exactly what you would expect. Anteroom, study, white and black rooms: these were where I worked. If you came to see me in a professional capacity, we would use whichever of those suited the scene in play. In her previous visits she had been, at least briefly, in all of them. Just like every other paying client, she had been no further.

This afternoon I was in no mood for a gentle bringing down, not that my punter seemed to mind in the least. I untied him, and told him to get dressed and get out. He pottered off, sore but satisfied, not quite able to conceal his curiosity at the feminine clothing scattered over the anteroom floor. I had given him a very hard time, although no harder than he wanted, which he had been satisfyingly vocal about. I'd been thinking while I was beating, and although he didn't get me going any more than any other man, by the time he was through I was feeling very hot and randy. I went back to the end door.

You did not ever pay your way through that door. Or perhaps I should say you couldn't pay with money, because there was always a price to entry. It was the only soft room in the studio: rugs and warm wallpaper; a comfortable tub chair; gentle lights. The bed was a double – big enough to play but snug enough to always touch. It had a nice firm mattress and thick soft covers, and of course it had a wide assortment of attachment points for my convenience.

Those thick soft covers were in an untidy bundle in the corner. She lay on her back on the stark white sheet, exactly how I had left her. Leather cuffs on wrist and ankles held her chained in a tight X from the four corners. The bit gag in her mouth had kept her quiet as she lay bound and open-legged listening to me beat someone else. There was one pillow under her head and another under her bum. I took the alarm from her hand and put it out of reach, then slid the pillow carefully away and lay her head back on the mattress.

"Nod your head if you'd like me to untie you ..."

Slight but noticeable shake. The last thing I had used next door was the suede flogger that was still hanging at my wrist. I trailed its tongues slowly up the inside of her leg and let their weight rest on her spread lips.

"... You can't have what we did before, that's not how I work. I treated you exactly the way I would treat a man, because that was who I was working for. I can't cane or crop you the way I did, not unless you want to explain the marks when you go home. Is that it? Have you had some silly row and want to go home and flaunt your stripes to make him jealous?"

More emphatic shake. Very well then, if that's how she wanted it. Entirely fresh contract required in that case. As I said, I like my routines, which is a self-serving way to say I am neurotic and obsessional. This is how it works: I explain, once; I ask nicely if you're really sure about this idea – once.

"Women don't pay me with money, they pay with their tongue. There's going to be pain and humiliation and degradation, that's not an imposition from me because that's what you come here for. Giving me head is an imposition, I won't make it romantic and I will expect it every time. If you can't do that for me, get out now and don't ever come back. I don't like to share, I don't like to make allowances, I don't like not to be in control of the situation. You are going to piss me off, if I take you on I'm going to want to hurt you more than I do most people. If I have to be careful about beating you then I'll need to find other ways to hurt, and you might find them disturbing. I am not going to promise to be gentle or to love you, because I won't do either of those things. Nod your head if you'd like me to untie you."

No nod, no shake either. She lay on her back for me, passive and unmoving. I reversed the flogger in my hand and rested the end of the handle against her, no physical pressure but unmistakeable implication. She closed her eyes and the closest possible thing to a content smile flickered on the lips held around that gag.

"You continue calling me Virginia, just like always. Forget the 'Sir' business, we can think of him as hubby, but I don't want to hear about him. You answer to 'Pixie'."

I unbuckled the gag. She tried to work the cramp out of her jaw, but as soon as it was clear I pushed my gloved fingers into her mouth. She choked, her back arched on the bed. Oh Lord yes. It had been far too long since the last failed fling, and I was so bloody frustrated.

I pulled my hand out and grabbed her in that sweetest and most powerful of grips: squeezing on both cheeks to open her mouth in a pretty submissive O. Ownership established, I relaxed enough to let her speak.

"What's your name?"

And please don't misunderstand that. Not now, not when I'm so desperate and horny. Please show me you get the fundamentals.

"Pixie. My name is Pixie."

I pulled the zip of the catsuit down to my navel. It was, in several senses, a very hot day and my skin underneath was shiny-slick. The sweaty leather scent was as dirty and basic as it ever is. I leant across her face.

"Listen carefully to me, Pixie, because you already know me well enough to understand I expect things right first time. I am not your mother or your lover – do not, ever, touch or kiss or lick or suck my nipples unless I tell you to first. You are my slut. You're not special to me. You do not mean anything to me. I will make use of you when I want to get off. I'm not hot and sweaty because I'm breathlessly needy for a lover, it's just a warm day and I've been working hard. Lick me, Pixie: for my pleasure, and because I want that taste in your mouth when I fuck you."

Her tongue lapped the length of my sternum, right up into the hollow at the base of my throat. It spoilt all my plans. I was going to make her suffer for five weeks of nail-biting frustration and another seven of sad wistful thoughts every now and again. I was going to give her a long talk and a light suede-tongued flogging on thighs and belly before laying my naked length on top of her and riding the biggest strap-on in my cupboards over the sound of her protests. Until I felt her tongue on my skin for the too-long delayed first time, and I simply lost it. Without any conscious thought I found myself grinding on her bound thigh through my leather; my gloved hand thrusting into her cunt and my teeth fixing on her ear. My cruelty was intact, but the rest of the Ice Maiden seemed to have melted into something less controlled.

"No. Please; please don't!"

"Don't what? Don't fuck you, bitch? I thought that's why –"

"Don't bite so ... Don't mark me, please."

I can't have sex without using my mouth, if I'm not biting I'm talking. So I panted some pretty harsh things in her ear, and to my utter delight I discovered she shared both of my sexual fetishes. Power is obvious, that was my job after all, and she wouldn't be here if she didn't want to be controlled. After the slightest nudge from me to put it into play, her voice let go. Why had she come back? What did she want from me?

She wanted to be used. She wanted to be fucked. She wanted me to treat her like the fucking dirty whore I made her feel whenever I talked to her. I'd degraded her completely and sent her home to tell hubby but every single thing he did to her afterwards she imagined taking from me instead. She wanted me everywhere he'd been. She wanted me to take possession of everything she'd ever given up and make it mine; she wanted that dildo I'd just mentioned in her pussy and ...

I bit her ear and tweaked her nipple before delivering a panting abbreviated version of my standard lecture about never using that word to me again.

... in her cunt then, and her mouth and up her arse. That, and my hands, and anything else I wanted to use on her. She wanted to crawl and grovel and follow every demeaning order I chose to give her. She wanted to stick her tongue in my cunt and lick my clit until I came against her face. She wanted to serve me in any way she could. If I wouldn't let her suck on my lovely tits could she please do it to my toes instead, would that please me? If I wanted to piss on her ...

"No, Pixie, that's not my thing. Don't say that."

"I'm sorry, Virginia. You just make me feel so dirty and horny. Punish me, please punish me for being so fucking dirty and nasty. Please just fucking hurt me Virginia. Please!"

You must have had one of those moments yourself. Everything's wild and intoxicatingly helter-skelter, with the words getting nastier and the bodies getting sweatier. Suddenly you hit some sort of wall, and you just stop in a perfect moment of pure shining physical lust. All was still for a few seconds, with our breath coming short on each other's faces; and that cold distant control was back in my voice again.

"You have such a filthy mouth, Pixie."

"Then why don't you just use it that way?"

Short frantic struggle to peel the leathers off my legs and then I was sitting on her face and calling her every vile name I knew as I wallowed in the feel of her tongue inside me for a gorgeous wild minute of just simply riding her. It was amazing, trippy, sensually explosive; and not the immediate need of the moment. I rocked my hips back; she met that immediate need with her submissive tongue working on me from inside her filthy mouth. I lost the power of speech; I just collapsed into my arms gripping the headboard and moaned my way to the most intense orgasm I'd had for longer than
I wanted to think about.

I untied her and wrapped the covers round us. Not that I had any complaints about her spontaneous performance, but I spent a long slow time exploring her body and explaining all those particular little touches and services and words that would make Virginia a happy domme. I ran my gloves over her and experimented with things that would hurt a bit without leaving embarrassing traces. I was cruel to her in small teasing ways until she begged me to let her give me head again. The second was slower and less frantic, she spent a good long time licking her way around and getting to know my idiosyncrasies.

Then she pulled on her clothes and left. I sat over a More in the study, wrapped in my silk robe, and wondered what the bloody hell I had just done.

Yes, Virginia, you've become the other woman.

***
**

She is standing behind me, unnoticed in my concentration over the keyboard.

"I thought it was the one thing you'd never do."

As it happens, there's a mass of things I would never do, but I knew what she meant. I've always had very strong feelings on that one. In part I suppose it's a reaction to expectations: tell someone you like kinky and eight out of ten will assume you'll do it with just anyone. I gave up trying to explain that the whole point of kink is that it's truly intimate.

"I'd never get between two women, that's unacceptable to me. Got to be honest with you, I'm a tad less precious about the property rights of men. Anyway, this one's fiction, you know that."

***
**

My little Pixie had, as most do, been through that bi/curious stage in her teens. She'd had a crush at university that went from kissing mouths to kissing breasts to mutual masturbation; no toys and no oral. I know it's silly and childish but I can't help it: I love that smug glow that I've felt on each of the rare occasions I have christened a woman's tongue. So, she wasn't entirely ignorant, but she was hardly experienced in the sort of services I would expect as standard. She was, in many ways, your classic little lippy until gradu- ...

And listen to me, spouting all the in-words as if I was any more part of the 'community' than she was. I'm not now, and I wasn't four years ago. I tried, from eighteen to twenty I tried very hard to fit in and be one of the gang, but it never sat well with me. There was too much of the one-identity-fits-all; too many assumptions that I would share political and philosophical opinions that I couldn't accept. When you got down to it, my sexuality was always defined more by the need for dominance than the fact of who I wanted to dominate. In the self-righteousness of my university circa 1991, that didn't fit. As it happens I never did graduate, nor did I stop having very good sex indeed with women, but I haven't exactly thought of myself as A Lesbian for a very long time. I'm simply not one for joining up. Maybe it was just tremendous bad luck that I fell in with whiny feminist academics I detested; perhaps if I had taken up with some salt of the earth butch bricklayer I could have ended up happily part of the club scene. I didn't; I plotted my own lonely course – had a lot of fun and felt my heart crack too many times not to regret – but in the end I came safe to harbour, so I suppose everything has been for the best.

But this is about Pixie, not me. She wasn't guilty or grossed out by the idea, she simply hadn't felt the urge for fifteen years. She certainly had not mentioned her youthful adventure to hubby. He, oh so predictably, was seriously into the idea of her being caned and trained by a woman rather than a man. Equally predictably he obviously viewed the girl/girl vibe as something for his amusement rather than her own. He thought letting me do the job was safer than getting her naked and kneeling for some horny guy. Fucking imbecile!

She was naked and kneeling now, on hands and knees in front of me as I sat at my desk. I leant back in my chair, drew menthol smoke into my lungs and languished in the soft fluffy cloud that was Pixie sucking contentedly on my big toe. I took advantage of her in all the ways she had offered, but oh my heavens her mouth ...

"Enough for the moment. Head up for me now."

She was as close to perfect as you could ask for. She never looked back at me with a big smile of acknowledgement that it was all games. I drank in that fluttery shameful look that didn't quite meet my gaze. I told her she still had a filthy mouth.

"I think you like that."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I think you'll like punishing me for being too slutty instead."

"Never mind, Pixie. No punishment today ..."

I stroked my foot slowly up the inside of her thigh.

"... Give yourself a little treat, sweetie. On me."

"Thank you Virginia, you're very kind."

My foot was resting possessively between her legs. She took it gently in her hands, stroking slowly over my skin to make my eyes close with the simple soft pleasure of feeling. My toe was still damp with her saliva, and she herself was so wet. She began to rub my toe over her hard, slick clitoris; and she moaned to make my heart shudder.

"Tell me, Pixie."

"I'm thinking about the first time, Virginia. I'm rubbing myself as I think about crawling through your door and feeling your crop on my knickers – and all I wanted was to have you pulling them down and feel you in my cunt after you'd hit me. The number of lonely afternoons I played with my clit and imagined licking you as you called me your bitch. I'm thinking about the first time you fucked me in your bed; how I was tied down and you were pumping on me with your beautiful breasts bouncing and ... Oh God, Virginia, please let me come! Oh please yes! I so wanted to kiss them as they – "

I pulled my foot away.

"Stop! Hands behind your head, Pixie. Now!"

She knelt before me, shuddering arms clenched at the back of her neck; breathing so deep I could watch it on her belly. She was at the very brink. Her thighs were trembling.

"Please ..."

"You don't kiss my tits, Pixie, you aren't my lover."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't think about that when you bring yourself off, my subordinate little slut. You think about me fucking your arse, or you kissing my feet, or the nasty cruel words you hear above you when I sit on your face. You do not imagine lover's treats from me when you come, do you understand that?"

"I'm sorry, Virginia. Please. Please let me ... Oh for fuck's sake!"

Her mobile was ringing. As she said: for fuck's sake. She scrambled across the floor to answer, and I felt like pulling it from her hand and smashing it against the wall.

I do not like making allowances for other people, it's simply not the way I work where sex is concerned. I like to be in complete command. I have also, over the years, got into the habit of orgasm control. You come exactly when and how I say, and if I don't say you go without until I do say. That's one of the many reasons I don't play well with others. I don't relish the prospect of sending you home to someone who might fancy giving you a good time. She put down the phone.

"I'm so sorry, Virginia. I didn't have a clue, he's taking the afternoon off. I've got to go now."

"I'm not happy about this, Pixie."

"I promise you, neither am I but I don't have a choice. Please don't be mean about it, I'll make it up next time."

Mean? 'Mean' is what I usually am; I was bloody furious. Intellectual understanding is one thing, but to have her snatched away just when it was getting really hot. I should tell her to make her choice now and live with it. I should tell her it was him or me. I should ...

What I absolutely should not do is wind the girl up to desperation and then send her back home horny. I knew he was fucking her; she'd never claimed that was unbearable to her, even if she might prefer it from me. I didn't much care for the idea of her working off my frustrations around his prick.

She already had her bra in her hands. I pulled it away, and took her by the hair before pushing her right hand down.

"Just another five minutes, sweetie: come and you can go. Don't stop talking to me, Pixie."

"I wanted to kiss them, Virginia, but you didn't let me. Then you unstrapped one wrist and you turned me over; I begged you not to hurt me, but you didn't listen. You were so rough with ..."

I rested my face against her shoulder, buried myself in the smell of her hair and chewed her ear as she came in my arms.

***
**

I was wrong to snap the first time, so I let her lean across and casually scroll the mouse up to read what has come before.

I'm a writer, I take pride in my work and I don't like anyone seeing it until I'm ready. Far more than that, I'm me. I simply cannot imagine letting any other person in this wide world do what my beloved has just done. Yet it feels so good and right sitting here in the warmth of the stove with her arm angling down past my shoulder, and the bitterness of coffee on her breath beside me. I tilt my head back and feel the softness of her breasts pillow me,

"How's it going to end?"

"Not sure yet. I never am, I just follow where they lead."

"She won't leave him, you know. They never do."

There's a sadness in her tone. Married man or two in your past, sweetheart? Not my business to ask, if she ever wants to tell me she will. How very deep are the still waters of my beloved.

12
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