Play Practice Pt. 06

Alyssa:

The next day I called in sick from work. On his way out the door, my husband kissed my forehead and said he hoped I felt better. He said he'd be late that night, needing to complete the grocery shopping I'd abandoned the night before after work.

Erin and I had been texting since the night before. Totally innocent stuff, but with the faintest undercurrent of flirty. I made myself cum several times that morning while fantasizing about being fucked by my tiny, aggressive former lover. As I touched myself, I started composing a text.

"I have a confession. I called in sick today. I'm playing hooky," I wrote.

"Alyssa's day off. So we're both being bad today," she wrote back.

"I've been good for too long. And how are you being bad?" I wrote back.

"I'm afraid it wouldn't be appropriate to discuss such things with a married woman."

Her next text was just an address. It was a nice property just outside of town. Mid-century modern and lots of land overlooking a ravine. I did a quick search and gasped at the closing price.

"Come over. I'll take the afternoon off and we can nurse each other back to health."

This was the moment of truth. Everything else had been wrong, but going over to her house would be a point of no return. Was I going to do this? Of course I was. I'd made up my mind the minute she wrote her number on my hand. My internal hemming and hawing was just my conception of myself as a good person putting up enough of a fight that I could feel "confused." But there was no confusion. It was quite clear. I wanted to do this and so I was going to do it.

"I'll be there in an hour," I wrote.

I showered and shaved every bit of body hair until my skin was smooth. When choosing clothes for the occasion, I had to contend with the fact that I had been married for eight years, was in my early/mid-thirties, and it was 12:30 in the afternoon. I fished the sexy lingerie I'd bought to convince my husband to fuck me from a drawer and tried it on. It was lacy and a little tighter than when I'd bought it a few years before, but otherwise, sadly in almost-new condition. Still, I thought I looked fuckable. Hotter than I had in years. I pulled on some black leggings and a zip-up hoodie and I was ready to go. Athleisure on the streets, lesbian bimbo in the sheets. I scooped my phone from the counter and headed into the garage. I noticed that Erin had texted me while I was getting ready.

"Can't wait to see you. XOXO."

With the text she had attached a picture of an ominous looking apparatus, possibly medieval in origin. A big wooden X.

I was surprised how quick the drive was. My phone announced that the location was on my right, and I parked in the driveway. I took a deep breath and walked to the door. The house was beautiful. Not overly large. Lots of glass and rich, dark wood. I reached to knock at the door, but it opened to me before I made contact.

"You know the rules. No clothes when you're in my house," Erin said.

I froze.

"I'm only joking. Come in."

Erin led me to her living room. It was incredibly tasteful--Eames chairs, a hanging spider plant. There was a large glass window overlooking the ravine, filling the room with a vibrant green.

"Take a seat. Any coffee? Tea? A cocktail?" she said, gesturing to the couch near the wall.

I sat.

"How about wine?"

"Coming up."

She was wearing cream-colored trousers and a black top. She looked dangerous. I watched her disappear into the kitchen and return with two glasses of white wine. She handed me one, then sat on the edge of an Eames chair, staring at me intensely. A feeling came over me, and I recognized it as the long-dormant sensation of being prey. Sometimes you think you'll never feel something again, and then there it is, after years, exactly like old times.

"So."

She crossed her legs and leaned back, assessing me.

"I love your home."

"Thank you. I'd love to hear about your home, too. Square footage. Number of occupants. Things like that."

"Right. My husband. Erin, listen: the last decade has not been particularly good for me. When you left that night..."

"The orgy."

"Right. The...orgy. When you left the orgy I was incredibly hurt, in a way. I felt like you had rejected me. Like you were judging me."

"It felt like I was rejecting you? Let me tell you how I remember it. I seem to recall you dumping me. You were my first love. Just because we were being kinky little freaks didn't mean I didn't have feelings! And then you have the audacity to invite me to see your 'new life,' getting pumped by every dyke on campus."

"You're absolutely right. And you were right. What you said that night."

Erin sipped her wine.

"Remind me."

"That I was going to think about you fucking me for the rest of my life. That I would miss it."

"And?"

"I have thought about it every day of my life. Every time my husband..."

"Enough. Don't tell me about him. Tell about you. Why are you here."

"When I saw you yesterday it was like waking up from a coma. I slept walked through the last fifteen years. And then, running into you...I wasn't numb anymore. I could feel again."

Erin drained the wine and stood up. She unzipped her cream trousers and let them drop to the floor. No underwear. Now she was nude from the waist down.

"You want to feel something again?"

"More than anything."

"Then lose the clothes and get over here."

I unzipped my sweatshirt and pulled off my leggings, leaving just the lacy pink lingerie. Erin smiled.

"You can leave that on. You look exquisite in it, by the way. But make sure you crawl over here."

I got on all fours and crawled to kneel before Erin's bare pussy.

"The years have been kind to you, bimbo. A little plumper, maybe, but you wear it so well."

She snapped her fingers and all of my training from years before kicked in--I buried my face in her cunt, lapping at it hungrily. She held my head to her with both hands, grinding her sex into my mouth.

"You're a little rusty, Alyssa. But I have no doubt it will come back to you in no time. You're just going to need a little practice."

She tasted just like I remembered her. I felt warmth come over me. Something I could describe as love, or near love. I was so happy to have my mouth on her cunt again.

"Let's get a better angle," she said. She pulled me to my feet then posed me to the position she'd imagined: my legs up on the back of the Eames chair with my back flat against the Ottoman. When I was positioned, she lowered her cunt on my face. I could barely breathe but I didn't care. She bounced up and down on my face, riding it to gratification. When her bouncing quickened I knew she was close. She came loudly, twisting both of my nipples at the moment of her orgasm. She collapsed on the couch that I had been sitting on minutes earlier and caught her breath. I laid there dumbly, backwards on the Eames chair in my lingerie, my face covered in Erin's juices. I didn't dare move. When Erin had recovered, she rose to her feet and stood above me.

"Come see my bedroom."

I stood up eagerly from the chair. She put her hand on the small of my back and guided me to the bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was decorated with sophistication and taste...except for the giant wooden cross in the corner.

"I don't normally leave it out, but you were coming over and I knew you'd want a try," she said, reading my mind. She smacked my ass. "What are you waiting for? A signed invitation?"

I walked toward the cross.

"Which way do you want me?"

"Is that a serious question?"

I stepped onto the platform and faced the X, raising my wrists to the fasteners on the ends. Erin came from behind and cinched my wrists. Then she bent down and did my ankles too.

"How does it feel?"

"Like I'm completely trapped."

"Then it's working correctly."

She ran her fingers up and down my body, taking inventory. I felt her breath on my neck, then she pressed her bare crotch against my ass, pulling my head back by my hair.

"The truth is I couldn't believe my good fortune when I saw you yesterday. Obviously I knew there was a chance I'd run in to you someday. But here we are--together again. Two girls playing in my bedroom. Away from the world. Somewhere no one can hear you scream and moan. I'm not mad about how things ended all those years ago. I was an amateur pretending to be the real deal. You needed more than I could offer. Hold still."

I felt the clasp of my bra become taut then heard the sound of a blade slicing through fabric. My bra dropped to the floor by the foot of the cross. Then, with the same knife or scissor, or whatever it was, she cut the lingerie bottoms.

"But that was half of our lives ago. I think I've finally grown into the kind of woman who deserves to be your owner. The only question now is are you still worthy of being owned?"

She shoved my shredded panties into my mouth. They were, predictably, soaked.

"Just like old times. No safe word. If you want me to stop, just say stop. And don't forget to count them."

"Onky," I mumbled through the fabric.

Thwack.

"Uhn."

Thwack.

"Ttwe."

Thwack.

"Threh."

"What do you think? Should I go easy on you? Or should I send you home covered in welts. Maybe you could tell your husband they're hives from your mysterious illness."

Thwack.

"Frr."

"What'll it be, bimbo? Hard or easy?"

"Hrd. Hrd. Pse hrd."

The pain was incredible. I knew my ass must've been beet red. It generated enough heat that I could feel warmth on my thighs. She was ruthless. Then, she was done. She pulled the panties out of my mouth and dropped them on the floor.

"How are you doing, baby. You okay?"

"Better than okay," I said, beaming.

"Good."

She released me from the restraints and led me by the hand to her bed, sitting me down.

"You can still take a beating. But now I think you've earned an orgasm or two."

She kissed me gently, first on the lips, then down my neck to the collarbone. I laid back and she straddled me, her hands roaming my curves. She touched my stomach and I flinched, grabbing her hand.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm just self-conscious. Really, I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for. And nothing to be self-conscious about. You look better than I remembered."

She gave me two orgasms with her tongue, and another two with her wand. Afterwards we both lied naked on her bed while she stroked my hair. She told me about the past decade and a half of her life. She'd been engaged, briefly ("To a woman," she specified). She'd made a name for herself at a literary agency in the city, then went solo, opening her own agency. My story was shorter. Convinced my lesbianism was a desctuctive phase, I tried to go straight. I married the first man who was nice to me, and now I resented him for not being what I secretly wanted. I had a job I hated. No hobbies. It hadn't been a pleasant go.

"Then I saw you. Struggling to reach a high shelf."

We both laughed.

"I want to see you again. Tell your husband you're doing a play. Then come over here for play practice."

"And when the play never comes?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, I just want to see you again."