Chapter 39
Kathleen
The change in her eyes happens instantly.
Even though I knew it was inevitable, I'm still struck by how much Ira Mathison changes when she dons the mantle of Domme.
No, she's always been one. This whole time we fooled around, flirted, and even fucked without a collar on, she's been a Domme. Just one who is holding back her true desires… for the sake of my sanity. None of that matters now.
I shake in my knee-high boots, not because I'm scared, though she probably reads me that way. After the first time we tried? I don't blame her at all. I'm nervous, but I'm not scared.
Truly, I'm excited.
No way do I know what to expect. I don't know what's going to happen, how I'll feel, or if her promises will come true. But I see this change that punctures me right in the heart and threatens to turn me inside out.
Her eyes have gone from kind and tender to…consuming.
These are feelings she's harbored this whole time, but I'm only now seeing them. She's letting me see them because she's comfortable with who we are. I've promised to trust her, but I'm not used to being looked at as if I'm a piece of meat. Like a woman whose sole purpose is to please Ira and do whatever she commands.
These shivers trembling through me… are they because I'm afraid? Or because I'm finally getting what I've always wanted?
Please, Ira. Go slow. My brain doesn't know what it wants yet.
Her arms wrap around me, tightly, possessively. I'm hers. I'm the prize she won, the woman she's been coveting, and now she gets the smug satisfaction of knowing that I walked through that door a Domme… and will hopefully walk out her obedient sub.
"Look at you, all dressed up for me." Ira kisses my throat, sucking my flesh and lashing her tongue against my skin until I'm whimpering. I don't know where to put my hands. On her shoulders? Around her waist? Do I wait for her to decide for me? "You're beautiful." My jacket bunches up in her hands, and I briefly worry that she'll rip off my clothes. "You're always beautiful, Katie. Just thinking about you at work or here at home turns me so on."
She grips my ass, fingers attempting to push beneath the restraint of the corset. Now I am whimpering. It's a sound I'm not used to making.
"You feel it?" Ira takes my hand and shoves it between us, making me touch her between the thighs. Yet I can't get excited. If this were a collarless scenario, fuck yeah, I'd grab her wherever and tease her until she was tempted to shove me down on the floor and fuck me – as Ira. Not a Domme.
Is there really a difference at this point?
"Yes…" My other hand braces against her arm. "I feel it…"
"You feel what?"
Oh, good, she's growling already. It both turns me on and emits those frightening shivers.
"I feel it…" The Avalon Neo XL. We meet again. "Mistress."
That's the dirtiest word I could say. Mistress. Fuck, cunt, shit, pussy… haha, those are baby words. "Mistress" means so much more. It means I'm letting myself go. That pretty soon I won't recognize myself anymore.
"Mistress" is the most powerful word I could say. I'm deferring to Ira. I'm saying she's above me. That she controls everything from here on out.
It's difficult to get off my tongue.
"That's what you do to me." Her hand wraps around my wrist. "Every time I think about you, in any situation, I can barely redirect my thoughts." Ira kisses my cheek, and although it's gentle at first, there's a bite to it that can't go unnoticed. "You know what?"
She pauses. My breath is rough, but I manage to drag up a response. "What, Mistress?"
Now it's her breath on my lips, hot and welcoming. I'm tempted to kiss her, but I refrain, because she hasn't permitted me yet. I know this game. I must not overstep my bounds.
"You're the only woman who does this to me. Has ever done this to me."
Perhaps it's the current state of my brain. Perhaps it's the sheer amount of disbelief I feel. Yet nothing in Ira's voice insinuates she's lying. Could it be? Is she really into me that much? Is it possible that I'm the only woman who consumes her every thought?
I can't believe it. This must be for the scene.
Ira's voice is back in my ear, and I'm melting, every part of my body belonging to her if she wills it. "I want to take you, Katie. I want to be so rough with you that you don't know how to walk anymore. Do you know what it means to be utterly claimed? Do you know what it means to follow your most basic animal instincts and turn into a primal creature who can't control herself? That's what I'm going to do to you. That's all I want to do to you."
My grip falters around her. Ira jerks back but does not release me.
"Starting tonight, you will learn how to let go of who you are. You'll enter a world where all that matters is how sexual you feel. All you have to do is serve. All you have to do is enjoy serving and in turn being taken care of."
It sounds tempting. God knows I need help letting go of my insecurities and everything else that makes me Kathleen Allen, the woman people think they know.
Ira is the only person – the only Domme – I can trust with this. I don't know exactly what I feel for her. My heart wavers between wanting to fall in love and running far, far away.
Tonight will decide a lot of things.
"Do you want that, Katie? Do you want me to take care of you? Do you want your mind to be blissfully blank as you serve me, and take any punishment you deserve?"
I'm unaware of when it happened, but my hand is no longer on her crotch. Instead, both of my hands clutch her sides, attempting to hold myself in her embrace. I want to love on her. I want to feel her push into me, to overcome me with her strength and make me hers.
That's it, isn't it? That's part of a sub's headspace. A glimmer of hope that I can do this strikes me. In another life, maybe I was born a natural sub.
No, I am a natural sub. I have to be, otherwise this night will mean nothing.
"Yes," I say, wondering where the strength in my voice has gone. "I would like that. I don't want to have to think at all."
"That's right, my love." Ira eases me back, but all I can hear as we walk toward the bedroom doorway is "my love." "Being a sub means giving up control. It means putting everything you want and need into my hands. I'm taking you places you never thought possible. You thought you saw your subs experience ecstasy? You don't know anything. The best part?"
We're in her room, my soul calling for that big, comfortable bed and wishing it could roll around in it, making love, cuddling, falling asleep together.
It happened once before. Why couldn't it happen again?
"The best part is knowing I'm going to be the first one to do this to you." Ira sits me on the edge of her bed, hands cupping my face as she looks down upon me. "I'm honored."
She continues to pet my face as I sit here before her, drinking in the delightful sight of her. Tall, proud, strong. Ira's wearing a more casual suit, the kind that's cut to her body, probably made by the old tailor here in town. Her pants are so crisp that they move with the utmost grace. Her shirt, a very light rose that only enhances her androgyny, clings to her torso in such a way that I know she's binding beneath. In true Ira Mathison fashion, she has left the top two buttons undone. I can't stop staring at it…
Just how much do I want her to overpower the fuck out of me?
"Katie…" Ira's hands squeeze the back of my head, tipping it back and making me open to her lowering mouth.
She's practically inhaling me!
I've never felt her so famished before. She's devouring my lips, suppressing my tongue in the bottom of my mouth, and making me feel so isolated and small that I don't feel like there's a world outside of this room at all. Every time I slip into the scene we craft, I bring myself back, panicking, my moans both a reflection of my status in this relationship and my denial that I love this.
It's okay, Kathleen. It's okay to love this.
A grunt falls down my throat, and Ira steps back, leaving me disheveled on her bed. She looks me over. Her grin makes me shudder.
"I've thought a lot about what I want to do to you." Fingers dance in my hair, and at first, I think she's going to undo my twist… but her fingertips make nice with the corner of my mouth, the place she assaulted with that powerful tongue of hers – I know where I'd like it to go next. "In the end, it wasn't about what I wanted as much as your needs as the woman I'm training."
Training. That word hits me right in the gut.
"Are you prepared to obey my every command tonight, Katie?"
I nod. "Yes, Mistress."
Whenever I say that word, ripples course through her. Damn. She likes it that much?
"Good. Now let me see some of your skin."
Ira opens my jacket, nails scratching against my chest. She draws a trail along my shoulder, keeping my chin up so our gazes meet. Hers is so calm. So determined and resolute.
I have no idea what mine is like.
"Go on, darling. Adore me."
What a strange thing to request. Most dominants would simply say what body part they wanted treated because I'm under no disillusionment that Ira means anything else. Ira isn't most dominants, though. She's a Domme who isn't afraid to voice her wants. She's gone through life building up the kind of indestructible confidence that the most gender-conforming adults envy.
And I understand what she means.
I told you, I like to feel worshipped as a Domme. I want to feel adored too! My sub is fated to cater to my every whim like a royal subject. I am privileged. I am worthy of sheer adoration. When your identity is wrapped up in praising someone else for existing… ha! What an easy life, indeed.
My hands caress the inside of her thighs, urging her closer, calculating how I'm going to do this unless she tells me otherwise. I'm comfortable. Comfortable enough to welcome chills down my spine as I run my tongue across my incisors and wonder if it would be a punishable offense to ask for flavored lube. I know she has some around here. If you have as much casual sex with people as we do, you like to stock up on anything they might request in the bedroom. Like vanilla-flavored lube, my personal favorite…
I think about what else she probably keeps next to her lube.
"Relax, Katie." The way she strokes my hair is hypnotic. "No surprises. I'll let you know what's happening every step of the way."
Although it relaxes me, I still take my time unzipping her pants and feeling the silk sheen of her boxers. I love her tastes in underclothes and would tell her so in any other context of lovemaking. Yet this isn't the time. She wants me to pay attention to what's going on inside her boxers. And, oh, am I acquainted by now… with every facet that makes Ira Mathison who she – and they – is.
Because even though that's silicone in my hand, that's her natural scent overpowering everything else. I press my nose against her soft mound and gently kiss the even softer spot between her navel and my hand. All so I can inhale her scent, infused with her need for me.
I can't help it. I'm aroused that she's already this aroused.
I take my time. A large part of me wants to squeeze the Avalon, careful to avoid the delicate trigger, while searching for her tender skin beneath the prosthetic. Think of all the things you could do to her, my subconscious says as I ponder my options. But I have to remind myself that this isn't a normal night of sex. That's what I would do without this collar on. The collar pulling at the hairs on my neck and reminding me of the delectable pain Ira might deliver.
Moaning against her skin, I'm suddenly reminded why I'm here.
"Fuck, Katie." Ira clutches my twist and holds me down on her. I get the message loud and clear. "You're amazing at this. I bet you've pleasured a lot of people, huh?"
I look up at her with fight in my eyes. I don't know what she's trying to insinuate and warn her with my gaze.
"Now, don't be petulant." Her other hand holds my head as well. The strength of both arms keeps me on her, and it's becoming more difficult to look into her eyes. That's what she wants. "I'm complimenting you. The only thing better than a woman trying it out for the first time is a woman who can jump right in and act like the queen of oral fixation."
Laughter enters her voice. I still don't like what she's implying.
"You love putting your mouth there, don't you?"
Well, that's neither here nor there, is it? I'm here, I'm eating her out and about to give it my porn star all if that's what she wants, and it doesn't matter if I think this is one of the most banal things or if I live to do it every day. Either way, I am doing it. For her. For my Mistress.
Fuck, yes, I'm doing it for her. For the way she grunts, the way she thrusts against my face, into my mouth, against my tongue, and the way her fingers grab the back of my neck with promises of what's to come for my cunt.
I flick my own finger beneath her prosthetic. A new groan echoes in the bedroom. I know what I'm doing is what she wants, even though she'll pretend otherwise. To keep me in line.
"You know what I'm trying to say, don't you?"
Against what we both want, she steadies my head and gradually pulls it back. Saliva drips from lips. I try not to look at her glistening mound and instead gaze into her hazel eyes.
I told you I gave it my porn star all. It's what she wants, isn't it?
"You know what I'm saying, Katie. I want to hear you say it first, though."
I purse my lips in indignation.
"Katie," Ira growls. "I want to hear you say it. And mean it."
Ah, and so we begin my utter debasement. It's not enough to sit me down on her bed and shove her nightstand in my face. Sure, I want her to do that. Do we have to address it, though? Why not let it happen? God, it's almost like I'm with a Domme or something!
I guess I am one of those types. A lot of people would agree, especially if they knew I was heavy into kink. In fact, I was called such things a lot in high school. You know, back when I said fuck it and started screwing whoever I pleased. Like Ira. Well, I tried to screw her.
Guess that means she knows she's right. Hence the smug look on her face as she's got her prosthetic hovering outside of my mouth.
Sometimes I really hate her.
"All right," I begin, refusing to break eye contact. "You've got me, Mistress. I'm a big ol' slut who loves all forms of sex."
Amusement continues to tug at her lips. Were this everyday life, I don't doubt for a second that Ira would throw her head back and laugh. Maybe she would banter with me about past sexual experiences, particularly as stupid teenagers.
This is not everyday life. This is something else entirely.
"Do you?" Ira pushes an errant hair out of my face. "If that were true, you wouldn't look so angry about it."
What does she want? To rub my face in her genitals and fuss over how much I love it?
Fuck that.
"I asked you a question, Katie."
My eyes soften, but it's not because I'm coming around to her. "I do, Ira. I love eating pussy, giving head, going down, whatever you call it. I love feeling all of that in my mouth and that amazing sensation of being on the other end of one person's climax." When she raises an eyebrow, I continue, empowered. "I love sex. I love riding, bending over, lying down with my legs in the air, I don't give a fuck. I love it when my partner worships me, even on top of me. Even if you're a woman. A man. Someone in between. I don't care what equipment you're packing, and I don't care how you like to fuck. And you know what, Mistress?"
Her thumbs push into my cheeks. "What?"
I inhale, deeply. "I secretly love it when you come on me." It's my turn to bare my teeth, tearing my mouth back into a terrible smile that she will doubtlessly count as insubordination. I fist the prosthetic, daring her to react. "Or in me."
This is my first time admitting it out loud. Shit, this is one of my first times admitting it at all – how good it felt having Ira on top of me, blessing me with one of the most intimate things she can do. The sounds. The scents. The feeling of it all. Is it any wonder people call me a slut? Maybe they don't say it to my face, but I can't deny how much I want her to do it to me again.
Her essence dripping on me. All over my skin. Taunting us both with how wild she is.
I'm a vessel. For her pleasure. For her sexuality.
"I'm glad you discovered how much you love it." We're past acknowledging her sitting like that. If she hasn't asked me to get back to work, I doubt she will anytime soon.
Sure enough, Ira lifts me by the arm and brings me across the room, removing my jacket as we go. There's an ottoman here. An antique one, with brass accentuating every corner.
Before I'm bent down, bracing against it, I know what's about to happen.