tagLesbian SexSpringtime in Helena

Springtime in Helena

byEudicotidae©

Note: This is a story about two very enthusiastically consenting adult women, but it's also a story of domination and submission. If that doesn't appeal to you, then neither will my story. This was supposed to be the beginning of a much longer story, so I may publish later installments. Feedback would be awesome.

*****

I think my favorite thing about April is the way she melts when I hit her. She swoons. She looks at me like I control everything in the whole world including her and she would do anything for me and I could do anything to her. And I do.

I've been called a bully before, but that's not totally fair. I expect my high standards to be met, and I expect to get my way, which I almost always do. I also have no problem letting people know when they're idiots, but I've always treated everyone fairly and with respect. Well, except for April, of course.

April started renting the guest cabin behind my house about six months ago. It's small and rustic, but nice enough. I was hesitant to rent it out in the first place. I'm a control freak and I hadn't had to share my space with anyone in a long time. But I needed some extra money, so I wrote an ad I didn't think anyone would actually respond to. I said I was looking for someone who was quiet, would leave me alone, help out with some chores on the property, and who was willing to comply with any household rules I set up, both at the onset of the move-in or after the fact as called for.

April wrote to me the next day and said she was looking for an inexpensive place to stay in for only a few months. We met for coffee later that day to make sure we could tolerate one another. The minute I saw her I was sure we wouldn't get along.

I usually don't consider myself particularly judgemental, but I'm a professional, and I didn't want a dirty hippy living in my backyard.

Temperatures rarely break freezing on the first day of Spring in Montana. That year was no exception - a balmy 24 degrees with a light breeze. April was wearing a colorful crochet dress, a light denim jacket, and tall cowboy boots covered in fringe that only barely resembled winter attire.

I couldn't help but notice that she was striking, though. Big, startled, pale blue eyes. Reddish-brown hair down to her ass. She was less than half my size, nearly a foot shorter and a few years younger. She was sweet, well-spoken, meek and respectful. I was surprised to find that despite by best efforts, I couldn't find a single off-putting thing about her and we finalized the living arrangement that afternoon.

She paid the first month up front, moved in the next day and I barely heard from her after that.

She was the perfect tenant. She followed the rules and she was quiet and helpful. She fed my chickens and shoveled the driveway. But having to share my territory did not bring out the best in me.

I yelled at her twice in the first week - first over four-wheeler in my driveway, and later over her music, which wasn't playing too loud or too late in the evening, but I didn't like it. Poor April couldn't have known better in either of those situations, but that didn't stop me from coming down on her with the full fury of someone's home had been invaded. But instead of lashing out in response to what were both admittedly unnecessarily aggressive attacks, April was understanding. Each time, she was gentle and apologetic. She had the sweetest, most disarming voice I'd ever heard and all of my anger faded at once. But I couldn't help doing it again and again.

One afternoon, I yelled at her for leaving her clothes in the dryer (even though she was usually great about getting them out right away and they were warm enough when I found them that they couldn't have been done more than ten minutes).

She apologized and promised it would never happen again. I threatened to stop letting her use my washer and dryer if it did. I have no idea why I did that. I followed her down to my basement, still berating her while she folded her laundry and placed it in her basket, telling me she understood and she was very sorry. That was the first time I noticed it.

She was folding the clothes down on her knees on the cold, dusty cement floor right in front of the dryer. It didn't make sense for her to be on her knees. Anyone else would have loaded up the laundry basket and taken the clothes back to the cabin to fold. She was staying to listen to my lecture. My stomach dropped as I felt a sense of equal parts guilt and paralyzing arousal.

At that moment she finished folding her clothes. She didn't get up; she just looked up at me from the floor with those big sweet eyes, and I froze, actually froze, for the first time in my life.

She must have noticed, but I honestly don't ever want to know if she did or not.

She leaned toward me, resting her arms on the dryer door while she looked up at me.

"Hey," she said, looking right into my eyes. "Thanks for putting up with me."

Again, I couldn't think of anything to say. Surely she knew how uncommonly accommodating she was? I couldn't think of a way she could be any easier to live with? If anyone else had said that, I would think they were making fun of me, but April was humble and sincere and on the floor on her knees looking up at me with this big earnest grin on her face.

I grinned back.

Despite my growing unwillingness to share my home, I was growing surprisingly fond of April.

"Do you want to come over for dinner? I'm a really good cook," she said, still on her knees with only the dryer door between us.

"That sounds nice, April."

~~

And it was. She made a beautifully colorful and incredibly delicious stir-fry on a bed of rice. We drank wine. She had almost no furniture. The only place in the cabin to sit was a loveseat that faced the fireplace, so we sat next to each other watching the fire. She was even prettier with the firelight in her face.

For the first time in my life I had the sort of crush that I thought was reserved for people less together than I am. Butterflies. Not knowing what to say. But I was determined to make up for what happened earlier this afternoon - both losing my temper and freezing up like a stupid teenager. I had to prove that I am in control, always.

It went well. She was eager to please - attentive, always waiting on me. And I am always so eager to be pleased. Whenever she asked if I needed anything else I always came up with something, even if it didn't really matter to me whether I had it or not.

As she was pouring my second glass of wine I told her she looked nice.

Her eyes got wide and her arm did a sort of mini spasm and she poured a bit of wine in my lap. She beeped. It was a very small noise - a truly adorable, closed-mouthed quiet panic scream. The next second she was on the other side of the room, then on her knees pressing a towel into my lap.

This time when she looked up at me, I'm fairly certain she was too preoccupied with her own embarrassment to notice the few seconds I spent aroused into a daze by her timid, tender attention.

"I'm so sorry!" she whispered, still awkwardly trying to dab the wine out of my blue jeans.

She looked up at me, her big doe eyes even more caught-in-the-headlights than normal - presumably not sure if I would be angrier about the spilled wine or the potential personal space violation she had just realized she might be guilty of.

I loved her there. I wanted to tell her she was perfect there and keep her kneeling at my feet forever.

"It's fine," I said, just sternly enough to mask my arousal.

She exhaled shakily.

I was pretty sure I could have kept her there. I could have let her think I was mad that she had messed up again, and watch her squirm and try to make up to me for the rest of the night. (I know now with certainty that she would have stayed on her knees silently while I reproached her, if I had wanted. She wouldn't have held it against me.)

But right then, I remembered I was already in a position of power over her, and considered how easy it would be for me to abuse that power, and how hard it might be for her to tell me if I was.

I had fully intended to take advantage of her, but not this way. Taking advantage of her naivety and easy going nature for free labor and to make unfair demands of her as a tenant - well, these things were one thing. I had no business playing with her emotions. I'm not a monster.

So I assured her everything was fine, and told her to get up and we had a lovely night.

But I couldn't get the way she cowered at my feet out of my head.

If it had been anyone else, I would have felt remorse for having lost my temper enough to make them fear me...or possibly even anger towards them for thinking that something so silly would have set me off.

With April, I just wanted more. I wanted that power back. I wanted to watch her anxiety levels rising, knowing that I'm the only one who could either quell that anxiety or give her justification for having it.

~~

My next chance for that would come about a week later.

When I got out of the shower one afternoon, I saw that April's curtains weren't drawn. Inside, I could see April, wearing nothing.

We live outside of the city, but not so far out that we don't have to worry about anyone seeing anything we do.

I went over and knocked on her door. It took her a couple seconds to answer, and when she did she was wearing a large flowing nightgown. She hung back behind an only partially open door. "Hello," she said, smiling.

I didn't smile back. "April -"

"I'm sorry, Helen" she said timidly, blushing slightly.

She looked down and bit her lip to hide the fact that she almost smiled in a way that was both infuriating and arousing.

"Sometimes I forget..."

I gave her time to finish, but that was the end of her defense. It didn't make any sense, but she really did have the most soothing, disarming voice.

It occurred to me that she was completely aware of what she was doing to me, and that made me even angrier.

I was trying hard to keep my mind off that incredible body so we didn't go down a road that would lead to one of us (her) having an uncomfortable living situation. Why wasn't she showing the same consideration?

She flashed a brilliant smile. "Would you like to come in for some tea?" She opened the door much wider, and as she did, the light hit her nightgown and I saw that it was so sheer there was really no point to it at all. Not only could I see a perfect outline of her perfect figure, her extremely erect nipples brought the light fabric to two pronounced, round points. I felt a confusing rush in my chest and pushed it out of my mind.

"No! I don't want any tea! I want you to close your goddamn curtains and stop wasting firewood because you don't feel like putting on a sweater!"

She drew back, clearly hurt and embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Her face was red.

I mumbled something like "good," as I walked back to the house, but I felt awful, already regretting everything that had just happened, especially turning down the invitation for tea.

I usually have so much more composure. We could probably be friends if I could just stop doing this to her. I had no idea what was wrong with me. I been able to control myself around people I'm attracted to before. I was just trying to be responsible.

I told myself I should turn around right then and apologize, but instead I went back inside my house and took a shower, unable to stop thinking about her gorgeous body, and all the ways I could have handled the situation so much better...like just bending her over my knee instead of yelling...I mean, speaking calmly and rationally with her, and then calmly and rationally squeezing her cute little face in my hand while I calmly and rationally ask the little bitch if she understands.

Holy shit, where was that coming from?

When I finally did go back over to knock on April's door again, I honestly couldn't say if I was motivated more by an interest in setting things right, or another chance to see that barely covered, perfect body I had been obsessing about the whole afternoon and evening.

"I'm sorry about what happened earlier," I said as soon as she opened the door.

"No! I'm sorry," she said, but I was taken aback. Her voice completely lacked the exceptional warmth and sincerity I'd grown used to.

She didn't sound cold, exactly. She sounded normal. Or maybe -

Her face was dry, but her eyelashes were damp and her eyes were red and puffy. Had I really been that mean? Did she really care that much?

"I shouldn't have yelled at you..."

"It's okay," she said, smiling. "Thanks for saying that."

I smiled back, desperate to keep the conversation going, but armed with nothing to accomplish that. I was so jealous of the version of myself from a few hours ago, who was welcome to spend the evening drinking tea in the company of a sweet young woman in a slutty nighty.

April stared back at me, her eyebrows raised in a blank is-there-anything-else-I-can-help-you-with customer-service-style smile that broke my heart.

It shouldn't have. April and I had a business relationship, and she was behaving professionally.

"Is there any tea left?" I asked desperately.

She softened a little.

"No, I'm sorry."

Then I noticed something. I leaned in and said, as gently as I could, "Will you please explain to me why it smells like marijuana in here?"

She turned white. Her mouth opened but she looked at the floor without saying anything.

"Look at me!" I snapped. She had promised me before moving in that she never did drugs.

She was trembling now.

"I'm so sorry, It'll never happen again! I promise!"

"Show me," I said.

She hesitated, and then awkwardly stepped inside to retrieve a tiny package from under her couch and handed it to me.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I barked.

But this time I wasn't angry. I was elated. I finally truly had the upper hand, and I was not going to mess it up this time.

April's face was now bright red she looked like she was about to cry.

I felt a rush in deep dark part of myself.

"I'm so sorry, Helen, I - "

"Shh," I said, guiding her not-so-gently inside with my hand on the back of her neck, (My height advantage made this a perfectly natural thing to do) pushing her toward the loveseat.

I stroked her hair.

Maybe I was taking advantage of her, but it felt too good to stop. I would give both of us a small pass tonight. I told her to go get a lighter so I could smoke while we talked about it.

"And put on some more tea?"

~~

If April had been at all reserved in her affection before, those reservations ended that night.

She started running out to greet me when I got off work. She would always ask if I needed anything done or if she could help with anything. I gave her odd jobs to do whenever I could think of one. She invited me over for tea and wine all the time.

I would sometimes turn her down just to her her beg me to come over.

My affection for April grew as well, despite my half-assed efforts to keep her at arm's length. But I finally had to admit to myself that my moral code wasn't the only thing holding me back.

She was everything I had never known I wanted. But that's exactly why I wondered if what seemed like affection on her part might just be my own wishful thinking.

At least, until a particularly cold fall evening when the heat in April's cabin stopped working. She was staying on my couch until we could figure out the problem. A part of me - a part very different from the territorial bitch I thought I was - hoped it would take a damn long time to fix. And that wasn't just because of the incredible meals she was cooking for me every night.

I was relaxing on the sofa in front of the television. April walked in with a plate for each of us and sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table.

I'd taken to teasing her mercilessly, and her reactions were always painfully lovely.

She was watching intently as I took my first bite of rosemary red potatoes.

I spit it back on the plate immediately in mock disgust without chewing it.

She punched me in the leg playfully and I retaliated by thumping her in the back of the head and kicking her side lightly with the side of my foot.

She giggled and blushed.

I felt light headed. It was the best feeling I'd ever had. I didn't know it at the time, but that was the moment the addiction began.

"Eat that!" she scolded.

"You eat it."

I was joking, of course, but she did. She took the potato off my plate and she ate it.

"Mmmmmhh!"

I looked down at her, sitting at my feet, looking right into my eyes, making a l sound that could be mistaken for sexual ecstasy, with my spit in her mouth. It was too much.

I was in a daze. I swatted her in the back of the head again.

"You're disgusting," I said, doing a pretty good job of hiding the fact that I was more turned on than I think I'd ever been in my life.

Again, she blushed and looked at the floor, trying to hide her grin behind an unconvincing pout.

I took another bite of potatoes. They really were delicious. She had served them with meatloaf and steamed asparagus, also both to die for.

I felt a rush of affection for her that was so tender and unlike anything I'd ever felt for anyone that, for reasons I couldn't quite understand, it almost made me sad.

I wanted to embrace her - another distinctly uncharacteristic desire.

I settled for scratching her head like a dog. She leaned into me, tucking her chin into her shoulder. Pure bliss.

If I had known at the time that she would have let me, I would have hit her a dozen more times. I would have pinned her flat on her back on my wood floor and groped her and squeezed her and poked and prodded had my way with her.

But we didn't touch again that night.

~~

I did, however, start roughing her up with surprising and delightful regularity.

It was a fun game at that point. One both of us lived for, though we were too shy to admit what was really going on at the time. Sometimes she would hit back, never very hard, but usually she would just play-cower and pout.

When we were walking towards one another in opposite directions, sometimes I would poke her hard in the belly as I passed by.

If she was standing in my way, (or if I was pretending to need something from where she was standing) I would shove her out of the way.

Sometimes just for fun I would step on her heels to make her trip.

The one morning she slept in later than me, I woke her up by gently slapping her cheek a couple times so I could sit on the couch while I drank my coffee. She sat up to make room for me, and then groggily laid back down so that her head was not quite resting on my upper thigh, but slightly touching it, still nestled under a thick down comforter.

It was an almost perfect moment.

The frost had barely started melting on the window. April was glowing in the morning sun, her hair a brighter shade of red than usual, to the point that it could have been emitting light of its own, rather than simply reflecting the sun.

The muscles in her face were completely relaxed, but she looked content.

Suddenly, I felt another pang of unwarranted heartache.

And then I realized, that for as absolutely, superbly perfect as the moment was, the glaring fact that she was not mine eclipsed it all.

She was my friend, certainly. She was becoming a rather exciting plaything.

But she wasn't mine. I looked down and realized that I was stroking her face. Eyes still mostly closed, she craned her neck and began kissing each of my fingertips. Ordinarily my heart and mind would have been racing, but right then, there was only that moment.

I leaned down and kissed her cheek and she grabbed my face and kissed my mouth. Her nose pressed into my chin and I all I could see were her soft, heaving breasts. We kissed until we remembered that we had to breath and even then we each clung to one another's faces our lips inches apart, inhaling one another's breath.

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byEudicotidae© 3 comments/ 17194 views/ 6 favorites

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