The Blue Viper Files Ch. 07

Chapter 7: Gospozha

Lindsey

Lindsey used the spare key under the ceramic turtle and let herself into the house. No one was home yet, which meant she still had time to get things ready. Though the house wasn't hers, she'd become accustomed to it, casually moving through the foyer, dropping her bag in the closet and hanging up her coat. It was a sacred ritual to her, to come here and put away everything that belonged to her, everything that she carried, and pick up a lighter burden.

As the thick coat rolled off her shoulders, she sighed and let the day fall away with it. She'd spent hours talking through fundraising and campaign strategies. They were stuck on when to announce and how. Some liked the idea of her doing it on the courthouse steps, reminding everyone that she's the District Attorney, that she's the final arm of the law that protects them from criminals. Others wanted her to do it somewhere casual, somewhere diverse. She already had a reputation as a ballbuster, and the argument was that she should show off her love of the community and her personality. They argued back and forth, all while Lindsey tried to focus on the cases she still had. The city didn't stop needing a DA just because she was running for mayor. It was like she had an additional job that only cost time, stress, and money.

Lindsey slid her blazer off and hung it up, making sure to line the seams of the jacket with the hanger so it wouldn't wrinkle or stretch. Then she unbuttoned her blouse slowly, deliberately, and added it to another hanger. Her skirt came next, and finally her bra and panties until she was only in her heels. It was necessary to leave the day behind her, and part of the day was the clothes. She wasn't off work until she was comfortable.

Lindsey reached up onto the high shelf of the closet and grabbed a pink leather collar, wrapped it around her neck, buckled it, and shivered. Work was over; she could finally relax and forget that she was about to be the most powerful woman in the city, and for a little bit, be the least important bitch in this house.

Lindsey headed into the kitchen to get working on dinner. She opened the pantry, took the apron labeled "Mistress's Bitch" and slipped it on, tying it tight around the waist. It was bright pink, with a ruffle fringe around the side. It made Lindsey look like a 1950s housewife bimbo, but that was Liz's point. Lindsey was powerful and intimidating, precise and demanding. But in this house? She was a cute piece of ass with barely a thought in her head. It was better this way for both of them. Hell, it was the only way to cope.

Penne with vodka sauce and grilled chicken was on the menu for tonight. She put on some music, something she could swing her hips to and focused on cooking. Things had to be ready before Mistress got home. Everything had to be perfect or Lindsey would get the crop. If Lindsey were especially clumsy, she'd be put in chastity. She was up to a week now, and she couldn't handle being locked away again. Cumming was one of the only ways a politician could stay sane.

Lindsey couldn't believe how this whole thing started. She and Liz had been flirting and hooking up for a while. It was all a secret, neither of them able to afford to be publicly gay in a city like this, but it was mostly a friendship with benefits. It was good sex and good company. They could joke and laugh in public and fuck like bunnies behind closed doors, usually Liz's.

Then one night, while Liz was fucking her with their favorite neon green dildo, Liz spanked her and everything changed. Lights went off in Lindsey's brain that she didn't know where there. Hunger woke up in Liz that she'd never been able to express. They quickly added more elements of pain and punishment into the bedroom, slowly shifting sex to a D/s dynamic. But then that wasn't enough. Lindsey needed to feel used for more than her pussy. Liz wanted more control, more ways to flex her power over Lindsey. They found humiliation hot. They found service hot. The more and more they dug, the more they discovered this was perfect for them, and their appetite was voracious.

And now they were here: Lindsey would come over to Liz's house when her mistress arranged for it. She would cook dinner for them naked and sit to attend to any of Liz's needs. Sometimes she was a footstool while they watched a movie. Sometimes she ate her mistress out while she read a book. Sometimes Liz ignored her entirely, instead opting to watch porn, masturbate, and send Lindsey home without any release. She found new ways to break Lindsey, to push her boundaries of what she would tolerate, what she could put up with. Lindsey lived in a world where everyone bowed to her, and now she could make dinner for a beautiful woman that would ignore her entirely. Once she made dinner for Liz and another woman, Casey, and sat in the corner and watched them fuck. She touched herself to that memory often.

Whatever Liz had in store for them, whether it was pain or denial or simply pretending Lindsey wasn't there, Lindsey looked forward to it. She had no expectations for the evening. She was in a complete state of zen, wanting nothing but whatever Liz wanted. When she took off her clothes and put on the collar, she became someone else entirely, someone she loved being but couldn't be every second of the day. In this house, under Liz's control, she was entirely free to let go.

Lindsey checked her phone and saw that Liz was on her way. She plated the food, careful to make it look professional. Liz had sent her videos to watch and even teased about sending her to culinary school. She wanted a fine dining experience where Lindsey could be naked and at her beck and call, so this was the best way to do things. Lindsey didn't complain. She set the table, poured the wine, and put out the food, ready and waiting for her mistress the moment she walked through the door. Then she peeled off her apron, hung it up, went to the table, and sank to her knees, waiting like that until Liz gave her permission to do anything else.

Liz came in two minutes later. She was blonde like Lindsey but a bit younger. People joked that they looked like sisters, both thin from decades of working out and maintaining their appearance while being busty enough that lusty men would hire them. Liz's face was thinner, heart-shaped but coming to an angular chin with severe cheekbones. Her eyes were blue and cold, and Lindsey absolutely adored them. Her face had the effect of looking young and adorable when she smiled but cruel and heartless when her lips thinned. It made her the perfect domme, someone Lindsey could serve for the rest of her life.

"Hello, pet."

"Hello, Mistress."

"Help me with my coat."

"Yes, Mistress," said Lindsey as she rose to her feet. She moved quickly to Liz's side, not wanting to upset her, and helped peel off her jacket and hung it up.

"Shoes too."

"Yes, Mistress."

Liz raised a foot, and Lindsey gently peeled off the baby pink heel. "May I?" she asked.

"Yes, pet." Lindsey lightly kissed the foot, then took off the other heel, and kissed that foot. "What's for dinner?" asked Liz. "I'm starving." Liz moved into the kitchen and snapped her fingers, commanding Lindsey to follow and stay close.

"Penne with vodka sauce and grilled chicken," said Lindsey.

"Wonderful. Attend to me." Lindsey quickly stepped ahead of her mistress and pulled back the chair, letting Liz sit as she pushed it back to the table. "Good girl," said Liz, and Lindsey's knees softened and her skin flushed. Comments like that were gulps of air to a drowning woman. Without prompting, she moved to the side of the table and sank to her knees, waiting for her next order.

"How was your day, pet?" Liz delicately placed a stab of penne onto her tongue, closed her eyes, and quietly moaned. "Mmm, delicious."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"I should have you cook for your next fundraising function."

"If it pleases you, Mistress." Lindsey was so far gone from her typical self, from any sense of reason or self-respect, that Liz could politely suggest she swallow fire and she would. Anything, absolutely anything, mistress wanted she should get, even if Lindsey had to cook for two hundred wealthy people while trying to impress them and separate them from their money.

"It would, but we'll talk about it later." With her free hand, Liz idly teased and tugged on Lindsey's collar. "Tell me about your day."

"More meetings."

"Campaign?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Still trying to figure out how to announce?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Want me to do it? I could add it to the forecast." Liz changed her voice to the perkier weather woman personality: "Next Tuesday we'll have a few scattered showers and then in 2020 we'll all have a new mayor. The attractive and entirely fuckable Lindsey Sterling, our stellar and submissive district attorney, will be running for the highest office in this city come next election day."

Liz laughed. "Sound good?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Liz turned, her face hardening into the cruel bitch Lindsey loved so much. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? If I outed you in front of the whole city?"

Lindsey blushed, which was getting rarer for her. "Yes, Mistress."

Liz pulled on Lindsey's collar, tightening it around her sub's throat. "What would all those men say down at the office, the men who want your job, who say a woman can't do it, if they knew that you love getting on your knees when you're told."

Lindsey said nothing.

"Maybe they'd shove you to your knees more often? Maybe before a tough court case." She leaned forward and whispered. "How long has it been since you sucked cock?"

"I've never -"

Liz smacked her. Lindsey yelped, but her body burned, the warmth running down her chest to between her legs. "Maybe they'll have you argue in court with cum on your jacket?" She bit Lindsey's ear then whispered. "Maybe I'll be there, fingering myself in the back, watching you try to sound dignified when the whole room knows you just took a facial of some assistant's cum."

"Y-yes, Mistress."

Liz smiled and sat up. "Jesus, that sounds hot." She took another bite of her meal, chewed, swallowed, then washed it down with a sip of wine. "That got me real worked up. How about you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Liz laughed. "One day I'll follow through on one of these fantasies, you know."

"Yes, Mistress."

"I'll make you decide between being my cunt and your career." Liz took another bite. Lindsey resisted the urge to rub her thighs together, to squirm and moan. Liz hadn't given her permission, and the punishment would be worse than the relief, but she couldn't stop imagining everyone in court laughing at her, knowing what a useful little slut she was. Maybe they'd all be hard and wet, wondering when it was their turn.

"Speaking of which," said Liz after another sip of wine. "Are you still my district attorney?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Any interesting cases?"

Liz was steering the conversation away from fantasies, but Lindsey noticed her mistress spread her legs and lean back in her seat. They were both still dwelling on the scenario she described.

"One," said Lindsey. "One of my assistants was arrested for solicitation."

"Prostitutes?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Which one?" She stopped. "Assistants, not prostitutes." She smiled, and Lindsey returned it. Despite their ever-intensifying BDSM dynamic, they were still friends, and Lindsey used to wonder if they would ever become more than that.

"Ben? Did you ever meet him?"

"No. You keep your work-life such a mystery." She took another bite and winked at Lindsey.

"Well, apparently he's been hiring prostitutes every night after work for weeks."

"Lonely guy?"

"No, that's what makes it interesting. He's married."

"Poor girl."

"But he's been having the prostitutes dress in his wife's clothes and calls them Betsy, which is his wife's name."

"Kinky." Liz paused, tilting her head to one side. "Kind of fucked up, but kinky nonetheless."

"Well, illegal for now. So that showed up on my desk this morning."

"Bad for politics?"

"Not if I'm tough on him. Then I look fair and balanced."

Liz laughed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"It's nothing."

"Tell me, please," asked Lindsey.

"I just can't imagine you being tough. I mean, I get it, you have a work persona, but watch." The laughter faded from Liz's face as she pulled back and slapped Lindsey hard. Lindsey cried out but didn't let her hand go to her face. Liz hadn't permitted her any comfort.

"See?" said Liz. "I bet you're wet and squirming from that."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Show me."

Lindsey stood up and came to Liz's side. Liz callously ran a finger along Lindsey's slit, coating her finger in Lindsey's juices. "See?" she said, holding her finger up for Lindsey to see. "Pathetic."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Clean it off."

Lindsey eagerly sucked the finger clean while Liz continued eating. When she finished, she sank back down to her knees.

"It must be hard for you," said Liz, "To be such a slut but have to pretend to be in charge and have it all together at work. I can't wait until the rest of the world gets to see the slut I love so much."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Mmmm, I've been thinking about you in court, covered in cum. That would be a great coming-out party. Maybe you'll argue with a collar on. Oh! Maybe with a leash and me at the end, holding it, while you try to look composed and in control of the trial." Liz closed her eyes and bit her lip. "That sounds fucking hot."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Mmm, come here and eat your dinner, pet. I've wound myself up." Liz spread her legs and Lindsey crawled under the table and put her face between her Mistress's legs and began to lick slowly and lovingly. Above her, she heard Liz swap plates and begin to eat her dinner, but Lindsey didn't mind. She had all she could eat in front of her.

***

After dinner and two orgasms, Liz was ready to head up into the bedroom. She sent Lindsey to set up the toys in the bedroom and play with herself, edging while Liz went to get changed. Lindsey was thrilled to hear it. Tonight could have been another night of being used or ignored. She could have been ordered to give her mistress a massage or be a footstool again. If they were going to the bedroom, that meant all of Lindsey's waiting would have been worth it. It meant that tonight her goddess was going to come out to play. It meant that if she was lucky and very very good, she might even be permitted to cum.

Lindsey set aside her present for her mistress and laid out the crop, the whip, the cuffs, the chains, the two large dildos, the strap-on, the hot wax and lighter, a bucket of ice, and a dozen other ways her mistress could abuse her body over the rest of the evening. The best mornings after a night with Liz were when she was marked and bruised. Each was a reminder of her pleasure, of her submission, and whenever she caught sight of them over the following days, she'd smile to herself and relive the pleasure of letting go completely.

She was totally nude except for her heels and her collar - just how her mistress liked her. She laid on the bed, spread her legs, and played with her clit, drawing gentle circles. She made sure to go slow, never wanting to build up to orgasm without mistress's permission, but also making sure she didn't lose the heightened state of arousal. It wasn't eating out Liz that drove her wild, though it did. It wasn't the hot fantasy Liz proposed, though that turned her on too. It was the slap - wild, aggressive, unforeseen, undeserved - that drove her wild. She thought about it over and over, running the image of Liz's cruel face, running her hand over her cheek to try and resummon the stinging pain. That was what drove her to a place of absolute submission, of bliss and complete denial of consequences.

Without knocking, Liz stepped into the bedroom. Lindsey looked up and gasped, her hand moving away from her pussy when she saw her mistress dressed to play. Liz had put her hair up into a bun, put on thick glasses, a tight white button-up blouse, black gloves, a black leather pencil skirt, and thigh-high black boots with a three-inch stiletto heel. She looked like a dominatrix librarian, but in her hand was a thin but sturdy looking rod that came to a point: a new crop.

Lindsey's mouth went dry.

"Hello, cunt," she said as she stepped into the bedroom. "Have you been a good girl?"

Lindsey froze, never sure how to answer the question. On one hand, she tried to be as good as possible. On the other hand, if she'd been bad, she'd certainly get to try out that new crop.

"No, Mistress."

"Oh really? How have you been bad?"

"I've been fantasizing about another woman?"

Liz smiled. Behind the glasses, her blue eyes were colder and sharper. Lindsey couldn't look away from them. "You don't sound sure of yourself?"

Lindsey's mind was blanking. "Please," was all she managed to get out.

"Please what?"

Lindsey pointed at the crop. "Is that for me?"

Lindsey smiled. "It's for bad girls. Have you been a bad girl?"

Lindsey nodded.

"Then bend down and -"

"Can you tie me up?"

Without a change to her face, without the heartless smile wilting, Lindsey stepped forward and snapped the crop against Lindsey's thigh as hard as she could. The pain was white-hot and beautiful. Lindsey cried out, but Liz was on top of her in a moment, covering her sub's mouth with a gloved hand.

"Who is in charge?"

"You are," said Lindsey through the glove over her mouth.

"You've been a bad girl and you dare ask for things?"

"Please," whined Lindsey. "Please."

Liz pulled her hand away only to use it to slap Lindsey. Lindsey cried out in pain, but she was never afraid. She could make this stop whenever she wanted. They had a safe word. Liz had never gone too far. In fact, it was always Lindsey pushing them further and further, deeper and deeper.

"Please what, cunt?" snarled Liz.

"It's been such a long week," whimpered Lindsey. "Could you please, please tie me up? I even got a present for you."

Liz froze. Some of Lindsey was seeping through her submissive persona. Reality was blending with the game, and she wasn't entirely sure how to proceed. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. Please don't stop. I don't want to stop. You can say 'no,' but I just really want to be tied up with this new toy, Mistress. Please."

Liz nodded, her look of concern slowly melting into a face of anger, the mask of her bitchy domme-self that Lindsey loved. She grabbed the back of Lindsey's head, twisted her sub's hair up in her hands, grabbing the knot of it, and pulled back, jutting Lindsey's chin up and forward.

"Sounds like my little bitch needs a lesson first," she said.

"Yes, Mistress."

"You want to give me a present?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Liz shoved down, yanking Lindsey's hair. "Then lick my boots."

"Yes, Mistress," said Lindsey. She got to work quickly, licking the long boots with her tongue, going up and down the length of them, from heel to thigh, over and over. "Yeah, just like that," said Liz. "Just like a good little bitch." She snapped the crop down on Liz's ass while her sub licked. Lindsey cried out in pain and clenched, frozen for a moment, but then continued serving her mistress. Her tongue ran dry quickly, but still, she licked, not having been given permission to stop. She didn't lick for the pleasure of it, or even for the humiliation of it. She licked because that is what obedience required of her, and there was no high like obedience. There was no place safer or more sacred than obeying her mistress, and so she licked.

Liz cracked the crop across Lindsey's ass twice, but Lindsey didn't stop this time. She felt the pain. Her body wanted to put her hand against the wound, to feel for a mark, for a welt, or for bleeding. But her body didn't. It was not her own. It would move when she had permission, and she didn't yet.