Better When It Hurts

Earlier in the day, I'd conquered pain by sinking into it and accepting it. That was not an option now. This was something else, a wild hurricane of sensation that I would lose myself if I fell into. So I clutched to the only thing I could do that wasn't succumbing to insanity, and screamed.

It wasn't a horror movie scream. No piercing shrill cry. Miss Turner wasn't murdering me or anything, though at the time I might have argued the point. I screamed out my anguish long and low, guttural and raw, until my lungs emptied and I had to suck in a huge breath. That breathing in was the worst part. It was like all the maddening sensations built up in me, reverberating around and compounding upon themselves, unable to escape until I could scream them out again.

My hips moved again. Less extreme this time. And I realized, it wasn't me moving them. It was Miss Turner's own hips, under mine. She was grinding herself on me, the small pea of her clit mashing itself against the flesh of my palm.

While I wailed, Miss Turner masturbated herself with my hand. I should have been incensed that she was literally getting off while I suffered -- probably even to my suffering. But actually, it helped to ground me. Because Miss Turner's panting in my ear, growing steadily more ragged, let me know the end was in sight. At least, as long as I assured myself she couldn't be so sadistic as to keep this torture up after she came.

I curled my fingers inside her, slightly more in control this time. Feeling for that soft spot again, I massaged it in time with the gyrations of her hips. Even my screams, which were losing some of their volume as I tired, synced their warble with the rhythm.

"Oh, Jemma." Miss Turner sighed. "I never knew--" Her voice went shrill, cut short by her own little scream to harmonize with mine.

And when it ended, she turned the vibrator off.

-----

"Jemma, wake up sweetie."

My hands were untied. They were cupping my boobs, protecting my raw nipple from the blanket, which, while soft against my bare skin, was still more than it could bear. When I peeled my palms away they were sticky with fresh aloe.

Between my legs the same cool jell had started to squish its way up my butt crack. It had been liberally applied. Had I really slept through that? No. I had to reach for the memories, like gathering up a dream, but they were there. Miss Turner lifting my hips to unite me. The intimate aloe massage, luxurious and hypnotic, lulling me to sleep. Her lips on my forehead.

My clothes had been pointedly set on top of the blanket. I pulled them underneath. Had to bend my legs to pull my panties on; neither my pussy nor my thighs liked that. "Ouch."

"It'll be worse tomorrow," said Miss Turner. "But then you'll feel better."

"You don't sound sorry."

She didn't dignify that with an answer.

I forced myself to stand, dressed, except for one arm which stayed tucked under my top so I could keep babying my tit.

I plucked the bottle of aloe off the end table. "Can I keep this?"

"I insist."

Miss Turner stood there, looking like she wanted to say something else. "I'm sorry to kick you out. Sadie will be home soon." I was pretty sure that wasn't it.

"Yeah, it's okay. I get it," I said.

"Will you be okay to drive?"

"It's not far." I took a step toward the door. Something pulled at me. A nagging sensation like I'd forgotten my keys, or my purse. Only I hadn't. They were right there on the kitchen counter, waiting for me to grab them on the way out.

"Does Sadie know?" I asked.

"About you? She thinks we're planning a surprise party for her. We should talk about that, actually."

I studied my feet. Well, I tried to. The bulge of my arm under my shirt blocked the view. "That could be fun," I said. "And a good excuse..." Stupid, I thought, to be blushing now, after all I'd just been through.

Miss Turner stepped to me. Awkward hands patting at me, trying to figure out where to put themselves. She settled for my hips, pulling mine into hers so we were connected, but leaning back to look at each other.

"I'd like that," she said.

I wanted to kiss her. Not to have her kiss me -- thought that would have been okay too -- but to lean in and take the initiative myself. My arm was in the way though.

"She really is going to be home soon," Miss Turner said. "And to answer your question, I'm not sure how much she knows. I try to be discreet. But, well, you know, she's a nosy one."

I looked back at Miss Turner before I closed the front door. She was running her fingers through her hair, erasing the sweaty evidence of our afternoon. "Jemma?"

"Thank you, Ann."

-----

Hi again! Thank you so much for reading. This is the longest story I've written to date, so I'm a little melancholy to wrap it up.

Ann and Miss Turner have more places to go. But I have some other in-progress pieces to finish first, and some growing as a writer to do before I can give their next chapter a treatment I'm happy with.

If you liked my weird story, a comment would mean a lot.