A Domestic Situation

Lucinda browsed slowly through the racks lined with hung clothing. Slim and tall, she moved with a fluid grace that often drew the eye of both men and women. Her shoulder-length hair framed a pretty face, and the shopkeepers all fawned over her; she already had two bags in her hand. Why not add a third?

Her fingers felt the texture of the cloth. She smiled here and there, lifting a shirt to inspect it, generally returning it. The clerk walked by: "Do you need any help?"

Her head lifted followed by her eyes. A smile, rather slight, appeared on her face. Her spoken voice was soft and cool. "No thank you, but I appreciate your offer," she said kindly. The clerk blinked; used to a curt "no," her more courtly refusal left her feeling a little warm. She smiled and turned before the blush beginning to hit her cheeks became visible.

She came to the lingerie. The selection was...exquisite. Reds, blacks, grays, whites in varying styles, but all would hug her form and show off her body to great advantage. She paused at one, her eyes sliding up and down. The corset-style bustier would fit snugly around her abdomen and cup her breasts well. The panties were a thong style, and the stockings felt luxurious. She checked the price, and then opened an app on her phone.

She checked two more apps, and then smiled a little. Strictly speaking the cost was slightly beyond what she ought to spend; she had allotted an amount for this day's trip and she had parted with about half of her allotment. This little number would push her past her budget but would not shatter it. And she had the image of Emma walking into the cottage they shared, all gruff and cranky from dealing with a pushy client, setting her camera down and walking into the bedroom to see her lying there on the bed, wearing only the lingerie. Emma's mouth would fall open and that hungry expression would hit her face.

The image was simply too appealing. She opened her text app and fired off a message.

Lucinda: I am shopping.

Emma: With what money?

Lucinda: You know I keep reserves!

Emma: Cinder, we talked about this! You can't keep spending - we have our trip!

Lucinda: It's my money!

Lucinda put her phone in her purse, ignoring the further dings. She loved Emma, but her conservative approach to finance irritated her. Besides, she was due to get her bonus in a few weeks and it was going to be a big one. She had generated over three quarters of a million of new business in the past twelve months. The bonus was definitely going to be a big one.

She sighed after paying for it; the credit card had wept a little. She toted her third bag out to her car, drawing her coat tightly around her body in a futile attempt to stave off the icy winds buffeting her on the short trip. She put her bags on the passenger's seat and turned the car on, waiting for the heat to begin. She checked her phone and read through increasingly irate messages from Emma.

Lucinda: Its too late, I bought what I bought. You know I'm expecting the bonus.

Emma: What if its not the amount you think it is! The trip to Mallorca hangs in the balance!

Lucinda: Emma, I always pull my weight and you know it.

Now it was Emma's turn to go silent. Lucinda set the phone down and put the car into gear now that it was warm enough to touch the wheel. She had a long drive to make, about two hours, mostly due to the rural nature of where they lived and the fact that the roads were abysmal. She cued up some songs on her music app, and tapped the steering wheel in time with the litany of songs, occasionally singing along albeit horribly out of tune. She could not sing; out of deference to Emma's tender ears, she never sang when she was with Emma. But alone in her car she was free to wail and warble to her heart's content, regardless of her lack of ability.

The cottage was empty; Emma had not yet returned from her three shoots that day. Lucinda exited the car and went into the house. She tried on her three purchases, one at a time. The gray pencil skirt fit perfectly, and she hung it up near her rows of starched blouses. That was a work outfit, one she would wear at her final presentation for the potential new business. She never dressed provocatively for such meetings; always some form of starched shirt, skirt and stockings or hose with sensible flats. Wearing high heels made her feet ache and she hated achy feet distracting her during presentations. Initial meetings or lunch meetings were better suited for the heels.

Her second purchase was a thick woolen sweater. It was sweater weather now, and she had many - as did Emma. In fact, if Emma had a uniform, it was her thick, warm sweater and her jeans. She had to work, getting down on the ground sometimes, kneeling other times. She needed the heavier denim material on her lower body as a result. Plus, it wasn't like a photographer had to walk into a business meeting and put a beautiful face to match that beautiful voice she had. She had to be sensible, and of course, bossy.

***

That's how they had met; Emma had only a few commercial contracts and one was with her company. She did the head shots for new team members. Lucinda remembered her irritation learning that she had to drive thirty minutes out of the city in order to meet some unknown woman named Emma at some little photo studio she had in the center of a distant town. She knew the town; she had shopped there once or twice. It was quaint and she loved the idea of the town, but living there? She shuddered. She liked her city living.

She had walked into the studio and looked around. It was tidy and cute, the walls adorned with head shots and family portraits. Lucinda saw that this photographer was skilled at making people look their best and concluded swiftly that she was in good hands.

A door opened and a woman walked out. "Hi, you must be Lucinda! I'm Emma! It's a pleasure to meet you!" She strode forward confidently, her hand extended.

Lucinda's reaction was physically automatic; a smile, an extension of her own hand, and the brief but professional handshake. But mentally, she was shaken to her core. "I'm Lucinda, it's a pleasure to meet you as well, Emma. It looks like you do great work," she praised her.

The photographer grinned. "Thank you. I do like to keep this client happy."

Lucinda nodded. "I was told they send everyone to you."

"Yes, they do," Emma confirmed. Her voice seemed to slip into a different tone, deeper, softer. Breathy. There was a moment, right there, as two women met into a gaze that lingered for longer than it should have. Is she having the same reaction as I am?

Emma cleared her throat. "Uh, let's get started," she said as a trace of a fluster entered her tone.

"Yes, a good idea," Lucinda agreed. When the photographer turned, Lucinda's eyes dropped instantly to the curvy bum. She filled out her jeans exceptionally well, and Lucinda was barely aware that her tongue ran swiftly across her upper lip.

She followed Emma into the studio. There was a backdrop and many of the necessary elements for taking portraits. Emma's tone began firm, businesslike. She did not bark directions necessarily, but her tone was firm and direct. The shoot began, and for once Lucinda found it easy to smile. All she had to do was look not at the camera, but at the woman behind it.

What the hell is the matter with you Luce? She had not felt this instant an attraction to another woman before. She had endured such desires with men in the past; twice she had given into that sudden electric need. Twice she had left a wreck, hugely disappointed, heartbroken and emotionally barren. The two other times she had resisted her urges, upon learning more about her would-be lover, she felt only relief. Her body betrayed her all too often, at the expense of her psyche and emotional stability. It had never happened with a woman before, though.

As she sat there, she played a not-uncommon mental game. God you are sexy, she thought looking at Emma. The woman's face was a mask of concentration, her brow furrowed as she studied the snaps she had just taken. She looked intense and that made her look incredibly beautiful. Do you know that I am so wet that I will have to change my panties the moment I get home?

She had long dealt with her deep and wide sex drive. It was her most troublesome aspect. She did not exactly lose her mind when she was horny, but her usual common sense escaped her while her risk tolerances plunged. Nothing was more dangerous for her than a wet pussy; it made her want. Wanting made her take risks. Taking risks all too often resulted in some pain. But she had also learned that taking risks led to the highest of highs sexually. Orgasms that rumbled through her like distant thunder crashing over the land, ebbing and flowing but always impressive. Or the sharp, quick, intense ones that left her gasping for breath, her fingers clawing desperately at the sheets while her lover's organ filled her, pumped her full.

Get your head out of the gutter, woman! Her mental self-scolding had little effect. The itching and crawling need emanating from between her legs was melting her defenses steadily.

"Are you all right, Lucinda? You seem a little distracted," Emma commented, looking up at her over her setup procedures.

You're fucking distracting me! She struggled to put a smile on her face, but it finally appeared. "Sorry, I'm just...it's nothing."

"Wait, WAIT! Freeze, don't move!" Emma barked, the camera up and several rapid-fire pictures were taken. She looked down, and was it her imagination? What do you see?

"Wow," Emma said softly. She looked up. Lucinda thought she saw something in those eyes. "You are a sexy woman," she said softly.

The flirtatious reaction was innate. Her hand rose to her chest first, a light pat, and then as the broad smile appeared, she swiped her hair away from her face. "Thank you. I'd say that coming from you that's quite the compliment."

Emma seemed flustered. "Me? I'm just..."

"You're a beautiful woman, Emma. That's my opinion," she added.

Emma looked up. It was there; Lucinda had been watching for it. Fleeting, the barest hint, but there - desire. Want. Need. "Thank you. It's not often that I am the one receiving the compliments on my appearance!"

Lucinda smiled softly. Muscle memory brought this look to her face with ease. She knew this look proved to be irresistible. The soft smile, a hint of teeth, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She studied Emma's reaction to it, and the smile deepened. It was happening! "Well, that is simply unacceptable. I think you are beautiful."

Emma seemed confused as to what to do or say next. She raised and lowered her camera twice, remaining silent. She inhaled deeply, her breasts rising impressively behind that sweater she wore. "Will...I'd like to take a more risque photo of you. I...I don't..."

A whisper. "Tell me what to do, Emma."

"Your top two buttons on your blouse. Open them for me," she said.

Lucinda felt a new thrill course through her. A deeper, darker thrill. Oh please. Oh please. She looked down, her fingers finding the button. As her fingers worked, her eyes sought and found Emma's once more. "Like...this?"

"Yes," Emma said softly, breathy. She moved to the side. "Look out," Emma directed, her fingers pointing to a spot on the wall. "I want...yes, here," she muttered. Lucinda felt a deeper thrill as she looked away, her top undone a little, a hint of her breasts visible for one in the right position to see it. Snap snap snap went the camera.

"Lovely," Emma breathed. "You are a very alluring woman, Lucinda. Striking, in fact, and quite photogenic, I might add."

Keeping her head averted, Lucinda replied. "Thank you Emma." God my pussy is SO wet! The rocketing shiver ripped down her spine.

"A shiver, darling?" Emma said softly. Lucinda felt her heart rate spike as the photographer neared. "Whatever from?"

All in. "You."

"Me?" Lucinda could only infer from the tone of Emma's voice that she was pleased. Yes, very much pleased. "Tell me why."

"You make my mouth dry and my heart race," Lucinda admitted, still not looking.

"Oh?" A soft, gentle hand fell upon Lucinda's shoulders. There was a caress, then a squeeze. "You find me attractive?"

"Yes, very much so," Lucinda whispered.

"Hmmm." That shoulder squeeze. "Stand." It was a single word, softly ordered, and Lucinda had no problem obeying. "Turn, face me." Lucinda's heart raced even faster, turning.

"Remove your shirt." Emma's hands were not quite on her hips, but they were flexing that way, the camera hanging between her breasts. Lovely large breasts, Lucinda had noticed.

"My...my shirt?" Emma's command finally sunk in.

"Yes, your shirt. Now," Emma emphasized quietly.

"Oh." It was in a small voice. Lucinda found her fingers no longer nimble and deft. They were clumsy, struggling to slip the button through the little slit. But finally they were done.

"Untuck your shirt, from to back," Emma commanded next.

Lucinda found it incredibly exciting to obey. She tugged the shirt out of her skirt.

"Take it off."

Lucinda gulped. She shrugged, her arms sliding easily out of the sleeves, and the gooseflesh erupting on her arms as she bared her upper body to this photographer had nothing at all to do with the temperature in the studio.

Emma's hand held out, and Lucinda had only a trifle of hesitation before putting the shirt into the waiting hand. Emma took it and smiled rather confidently. She took the shirt back to her desk area and set it down.

"Sit back down on the stool."

Lucinda blinked, and sat. Emma circled her slowly. "I am going to watch you and photograph you while you take your bra off for me. Do it slowly, like you would do for a lover for whom you are putting on a show."

Lucinda jerked a little in the stool.

"Lucinda?" Emma said as she knelt. "Begin."

There was a long, slow exhale, ragged. An involuntary poke of her tongue out between her lips; the camera's soft clicking noises catching each movement. Lucinda's heart raced faster yet as she slowly brought her arms behind her back, finding the clasp. Squeezing together. The soft snick of the camera; Emma's motions visible from the corner of her eye. The bra came loosely off, and she brought her arms forward, the straps trapped between arm and torso. Her cups remained covering her breasts, and then she reached up, and closed her eyes momentarily. Another soft shuddery exhale. The bra fell away.

Lucinda heard it - a sharp hissing intake of breath from the photographer. "Your nipples are hard, Lucinda," Emma commented. "Pinch one for me, throwing your head back. I want to see that look, cross your legs, cross them Cinder, now!" Emma commanded sternly.

Cinder? Only one lover had ever called her that. She had been grateful to escape his clutches. She hoped the use of this nickname was not going to repeat the same problematic connotations. But it was her heated pussy, that dripping organ, that drove her to cross her legs, throw her head back, and her index finger and thumb find her hard nipple. She applied a squeeze.

"Harder," Emma said softly.

"MMmmmm ooowwww," Lucinda moaned. The next physical shudder was fully involuntary.

"Your pussy must be wet as a river right now," Emma commented. The camera never stopped working. "Is it?"

The next pinch was savage. "YES!" burst from her mouth, followed by another gasping exhale.

"Good girl."

Oh FUCK! Lucinda had only once in her life been with someone who had labeled her a good girl. It had been over Christmas break her senior year at the uni. She had found her economics professor entirely gorgeous and flirted shamelessly with him all during the fall semester. When her home life imploded, and she had no home to return to, she found herself sitting glumly in a dark, smoky pub that she had previously rarely entered. She was at the bar, her face slack with dismay. The long-rumored divorce had finally come, and she was not sure which parent she loathed more at the moment. Both were calling her, using her as a pawn in their war, and she hated them. She wanted nothing more to do with them.

So that college professor sat next to her and ordered a pint. He saw her face and began talking to her, gently, softly, a wizened older man giving as much life wisdom as he could to a decimated young woman. She had needed that solace more than anything in her life, and she had drank far too much.

He had taken her home, to his home, and stowed her in his spare bedroom. The next morning's hangover had been epic. But she had never left that home for three weeks. It had been a passionate mad break in her life. For three weeks she had not been permitted to wear a stitch of clothing in his presence. For three weeks she had been fucked daily, sometimes twice daily, sometimes rough, sometimes tender. But always under his control. Good girl had been his key - saying it made her wet. Her wet pussy was his to use and mold. She had escaped back to the spring semester, her last, and had never looked back. Though it had been the most intense three-week interlude in her life, she also had chalked it up to the near-breakdown over her parents' divorce.

Hearing her say it now elicited another shiver. So her reply was a bit of an automatic recall. "Thank you Miss Emma."

"Oh, and good manners, too," Emma said softly. "I want to hear you address me like that again, Cinder."

She swallowed hard, aware that the camera was back trained on her face. She wondered what her face showed as she said it. "Miss Emma."

"Is your pussy wet, Cinder?"

"Yes...Miss Emma." She groaned this, her crossed legs shifting back and forth.

"Do not move until I tell you to go. Stand, then slowly unzipper your skirt. Slide it slowly over that magnificent ass of yours, and down your legs. Never let it fall from your fingers. You will be bent fully over. Step one leg out of the skirt. Then the second. Then you may hand it to me. Upon handing it to me, you will return to your stool, and cross your legs. Nod if you understand all of that?"

Lucinda nodded, her lower lip between her teeth.

"Good girl. Now. Go."

The stand was done slowly. How one makes standing a demure act was tricky, but Lucinda believed that she pulled it off. She reached behind, undoing the button, moving the small zipper down until the tightness around her waist disappeared. Both hands found the skirt. She began to lower it, slowly and slowly, down her long legs, bending at the waist. Powerfully aware that her panties were soaked through and likely visibly stained, and that the bending left her breasts to dangle under her body. She felt the pull of their weight. Bent, she carefully stepped out of the skirt. Moved her hands and stepped out of the other. Slowly returned her body to a standing position. The snapping of the camera had stopped. Emma held out her hand.

"My skirt, Miss Emma," Lucinda whispered.

"Thank you, darling. Stand until I am ready to watch you sit," she amended. Lucinda watched as Emma took the skirt with her top and then found a new position, right in front of her. "Now, sit and cross those legs. Are they slutty legs, Cinder?"

The shiver rippled through her again. "Sometimes...they are...Miss Emma," she said as she sat. Slowly crossing her legs.

"Your wet pussy makes you a slut, doesn't it, Cinder?"

"Yes...Miss Emma," Lucinda said as she perched her butt onto the stool. With only that tiny, flimsy wisp of fabric between her body and the stool's leather, Lucinda feared for the cleanliness of the stool.

"Let me see how much of a slut you are, Cinder. Bring your hands to the back of your neck, and lace your fingers. Now," she said.

Lucinda's soft mewl was the only vocal answer. The camera snapped as her hands rose, her fingers lacing, then resting at the back of her neck. Her torso exposed. Her breasts exposed. Her nipples diamond hard.