Chapter 24

Emily had needed panties this morning…

On a typical morning, she might have woken up without any underwear on and not been inconvenienced by that fact. But this morning, she had woken up rather creamy between her legs. She suspected it was because her core hadn't shut completely off while she had slept, but she also remembered having some rather erotic dreams as well.

So, when she had woken up very wet, she had cleaned up as best she could in the bathroom before going off in search of underwear. She had found a pair of black briefs in that enormous closet easily enough, but even after putting them on she hadn't gone off to find Priscilla. Instead, she had gone back into the bedroom proper, and had stood in the middle of the room…looking at her surroundings.

Wondering…

If it's in this room, where would it be?

That had led her to quickly peek behind the three paintings in the room—including, she couldn't help but notice, another Bouguereau masterpiece, Calinerie—looking for a hidden safe. Not finding one, she quickly checked behind two bureaus, as well as in a much, much smaller closet that was mostly empty save for a few hat boxes.

She even examined the floor-to-ceiling bookcase, randomly pulling out several expensive-looking volumes to determine if a safe or some other kind of hidden storage was behind them.

The last place she had checked—and felt silly doing so—was under the bed. All she discovered by doing that was that Priscilla's housekeepers did a better job of dusting under the bed than the twice-a-month housekeeping service she used for her condo.

And that had been all she had been able to do…feeling pressed for time as she was. She knew, however, that The Young Shepherdess could be anywhere in this house, and resolved to observe everything she could for as long as she would be here. Which had then made her start to think about something very important.

Why was she here? In Priscilla's house? Wearing a borrowed camisole top and pajama shorts, not to mention borrowed panties?

Weakness was part of it, she was willing to concede. Priscilla Kroyn turned her on, plain and simple. And she did so in a manner that Emily wasn't sure she had ever experienced before. So…yes, she had woken up today in Priscilla's house because she had been weak and craved the experience of fucking that woman.

And that experience had been mind-blowing.

Something inside of her which she had long suspected was there had finally been allowed to break free. After a lifetime of being the type of woman who had always been in charge, and who tended to attract the type of lovers who wanted and needed that, she had finally attracted a woman who would have none of it. No discussion. No negotiations. Nothing of the sort.

And so she had finally gotten to enjoy the freedom of…submitting. Of not doing the demanding; of not doing the thinking…of just doing the doing.

Whatever Priscilla had wanted last night, she had done—and it had been a sexual experience so intensely pleasurable, there had been points when she had felt as if she might literally lose her grip on reality.

However…

She had a job to do, and she needed to decide if what happened last night was a one-off—a Dear Diary-esque entry in the annals of her life—while finding other means of eventually finding The Young Shepherdess and possibly seeing Priscilla prosecuted for the theft.

Or…

Was she willing to prostitute herself for this investigation, by continuing to have a sexual relationship with her quarry, in the hopes that by having such…access to Priscilla, her life, and her home, it would yield that damning piece of evidence she was searching for?

The problem was, by the time she left the bedroom to try to locate Priscilla, she still hadn't decided one way or the other…

***

The housekeeper—Madeline, as she had introduced herself when she had found Emily wandering around trying to find Priscilla—arrived with a cart carrying their breakfast.

Emily gave a dry chuckle of disbelief when she saw what was on the plates.

Blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon.

She started laughing, knowing it was ridiculous to believe that it was a coincidence.

"You are very good, Ms. Kroyn," she said, gesturing to the food on the table.

Priscilla put an obviously-fake look of confusion on her face.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said. "I eat this every day for breakfast."

Emily laughed.

"Liar!" she exclaimed. "I'll bet you haven't had a single pancake for breakfast since you were a child."

"Not even then," Priscilla said, picking up a slice of bacon. "One does not reach the Olympics by eating blueberry pancakes."

"What's your excuse now?" Emily teased. She started eating.

Priscilla shrugged.

"Old habits die hard," she said. "Perhaps that's why I need you around…to teach me some new ones."

Emily stared at her, and tried to ignore the fact that the idea of the fabulous woman sitting across the table from her needing her for anything was…well, lovely.

"You have a beautiful home, by the way," she said as a way to distract herself from that thought. "I don't know why you'd risk losing it. Or a lot of other things…especially your good name."

All Priscilla did in response was to quirk an eyebrow at her in that spoiled child manner she had, and put a forkful of scrambled eggs in her mouth.

"I am not going to stop," Emily warned her, around a mouthful of pancakes, a little annoyed that she wasn't being taken seriously.

Priscilla stared at her.

"Just promise me that sometimes…you know, on occasion…you'll take a breather for other things," she said. "I'd hate to see you lose interest in all of your other hobbies."

Yeah, well right now, you're my hobby, Emily thought to herself, looking at Priscilla. And through you I'll get that painting back.

A few minutes later, during which time Priscilla read what looked to be the New York Times on an iPad, and Emily ate her delicious breakfast, alone with her thoughts—Emily detected movement behind her.

"Oh, thank you, Madeline," Priscilla said, looking away from the iPad when the housekeeper appeared beside the table, carrying two black paper shopping bags marked with the logo of an upscale boutique Emily was familiar with in downtown San Diego.

"Here you go, ma'am," Madeline said to Emily, offering her the two bags.

Emily, her brow furrowed with confusion, put down her fork and knife, looked at Priscilla, and then took the bags.

"What's this?" she asked when the housekeeper had departed.

She didn't wait for Priscilla to answer. Inside the first bag she examined, she didn't find The Young Shepherdess, but she did find a nice russet-colored long-sleeved Henley top and a pair of dark-blue jeans. The second bag contained a pair of black bikini-cut panties, a beige t-shirt bra, and a shoebox with ballet flats.

Emily checked all the labels…

Each item was her size.

She looked at Priscilla, who smirked back at her.

"Thought you might appreciate not going back home wearing the same dress as last night," she said. "Walk of shame and all that…"

Shit!

Emily hated feeling torn about anything. She was a woman who made quick decisions and stuck with them, adapting only if necessary. This was because she was a woman who had learned to trust her instincts.

But now she was torn.

Part of her hated how Priscilla had the power and influence to pull these little stunts—such as having clothing her size delivered from a boutique that she knew wouldn't even be open for about three more hours. While part of her couldn't help being incredibly turned on by it, and wanting Priscilla even more.

"Thank you for the clothes," she told her host, keeping her voice level. "But I'm still not giving up. You stole that painting, and I'm going to prove it."

Priscilla put down her iPad.

"Now…what did I tell you about leaving time for all of your other hobbies?" she asked in a purr.

She rose from her seat and approached Emily. After removing the two shopping bags from Emily's lap, she took their place, straddling Emily while facing her. Then, very quickly, she crossed her arms and lifted off her pajama top.

Emily, succumbing to weakness once again, let her eyes fall to Priscilla's breasts. Small, still pert, with dusky-rose nipples whose tips were now quite hard.

Priscilla took hold of the ponytail Emily had pulled her hair into upon waking up, and used it to tilt her head back so their eyes could meet.

"You have five seconds to say no," Priscilla told her, looking down at her. "Five…four…three…two…one."

Emily said nothing…as she had known would happen once the topless Priscilla had given her that ultimatum.

With her grip tight on the ponytail, Priscilla guided Emily's mouth to her left breast, Emily immediately taking the nipple in and sucking on it.

Apparently, Emily considered, Priscilla didn't care about the housekeeper or anyone else walking in on them, and anyway…that was a circumstance she really didn't care about at this particular junction.

Inside her borrowed panties—underwear which Priscilla's pussy had once been in—her vulva was now trembling, and her clit was thumping in time with her heartbeat.

Now Priscilla was stroking her hair gently.

"Mm…just keep doing that," she urged, "until I say stop. And don't forget the other one."

Emily, her mouth full of the tip of Priscilla's breast, grunted as her clit thumped even harder.

Following Priscilla's edict, she now switched to the right breast, sucking hard on it, trying to get as much of the small breast into her mouth as possible, feeling an urge to consume this woman.

"Keep going…" Priscilla said. "Just keep going…"

Emily moaned at the feeling of her liquid arousal filling her passage and sliding downward, out of her opening.

Back to the left breast, and more hard sucking…

She knew she ought to hate herself. After all…present her situation objectively to any disinterested third party, and how would she come off looking?

But I don't hate myself. And when this is all over, I'll at least be able to have all this to look back on and enjoy. As Daddy used to say, "You're a long time dead."

Emily wondered if Priscilla had chosen this particular activity because she knew it would give time for her to think while doing it.

She probably wants me to stay in my head now.

It made sense, she considered.

The longer she stayed in her head thinking about how this was wrong, and yet continued pleasuring Priscilla's breasts—without stopping or raising objections—signaled to Priscilla that she was willing to do anything to remain close to her.

Even prostituting myself…

She whimpered as she suckled.

But she didn't stop suckling.

Instead, she brought her hands up from Priscilla's waist to Priscilla's bare back. She dug her short fingernails into the flesh and pulled the redhead's torso even closer to her face before clamping her teeth onto the hard nipple in her mouth.

She'd find time to hate herself when this was all over. If need be, she'd seek out therapy.

But right now, the pleasure was too great, and she had a different job to do.

After all, Priscilla hadn't told her to stop yet…