We Belong Together

Elise tried to stammer out an explanation, something that would placate them, but her broken English can manage little beyond, "[Not me]," and it's clear from the look on their faces that they don't believe her. She switches to French, rapidly blurting out, "Don't you see you've made a mistake?", and it's clear it has more of an effect on them than her exaggerated shrugs and head shakes. Whoever this missing person is, her friends didn't expect her to speak anything other than English.

The woman looks past Elise, trying to get a sense of the apartment behind her, and Elise wonders if she's looking for men with guns or something. Again, she can't shake the sense of melodrama that threads through the entire encounter, the feeling that she's stepped into some kind of American thriller made by Alfred Hitchcock or one of his many imitators. It would be absurd if it wasn't really happening. It's even more absurd because it is really happening. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but Elise is discovering to her horror that she greatly prefers it the other way around.

And the entire time, they keep showing her that photo, gesticulating wildly at it and babbling incomprehensible phrases at her as if they expect at any moment for her to remember an entire language to communicate with them in. But all Elise notices is the deep, heavy throb of arousal in her clit, getting stronger and louder inside her head the more she stares at the woman in the picture and racks her brains for any memory of her. There's something about the whole situation that feels familiar, but the familiarity just makes her pussy ache harder with need. She'd lock herself in her bedroom and masturbate if she wasn't terrified they would follow her.

The man reaches out, but the woman puts her hand on his arm. She shakes her head and says something in English, something Elise doesn't understand and doesn't really want to know. She tries to remember where she left her cell phone, to gauge whether she could get to it before the man tackled her and dragged her out of the building. It suddenly seems like the most important question in the world, but Elise has never been very good with these kind of little details. That was what Maitresse was for, to help her think when her fuzzy and befuddled mind wasn't up to the task.

She has no idea when Maitresse will be back. It might not be for hours, yet. Elise is on her own. "Please go away," she murmurs, her eyes wide and timid and plaintive. But even though the woman's face contorts in desperate confusion, the man only seems more determined to force her into his world.

* * * * *

"Gnnnnhhhhh!" Nikki closed the laptop cover hard and sat there, fists half-clenched, vibrating with rage. The frustration bounced around impotently inside her, unable to release itself--it was a sensation Nikki had gotten all too familiar with over the years, wanting to scream or throw something or pound her fist on the desk until it bruised, but so terrified of somehow making a scene that all she could do was let out an inarticulate growl and wait for the tension to subside.

But this time Marie was here. "Ohh, ma cherie, ees zere more troubles?" she asked, putting her hand on the back of Nikki's neck and gently rubbing the frustration away. It shouldn't have worked--Nikki was used to stress, it fit inside of her brain like a hand in a glove--but somehow after only a few seconds she found the tightness in her shoulders easing and her vision melting into a soft blur as the tiny little muscles in her eyes relaxed. She let out a long, heavy sigh, unable to hold on even to the air she breathed when Marie's magic touch was doing its work.

Nikki luxuriated in the sensation for a moment before remembering that Marie was waiting for a response. "Just... more connection issues," she groused, her voice now more weary than frustrated. School had started back up two weeks ago now, and Nikki had already missed more class in those two weeks than she had in the twenty years preceding them. It seemed like practically every time she logged on, the video started lagging and pixelating within mere moments, and she hadn't managed to get more than five minutes into a single lecture before it cut out entirely. Her professors were thankfully sympathetic... but she could tell that they were getting less so every day.

And troubleshooting had proved useless. Or at least, Nikki had proved useless at it. Normally she was pretty good with connectivity issues, but the stress of worrying about her passport--which still hadn't turned up, even after three weeks--had dulled her wits with frustration until her every effort at tracing the problem left her chasing fruitlessly in circles. If it wasn't for Marie physically pulling her away from the laptop for a relaxing massage every so often, she probably would have broken the damn thing in half by now.

Nikki felt the familiar tug of Marie's hand on her wrist again, dragging her over to the bed that was so tantalizingly close, but she resisted. She knew full well that if she let herself be drawn away now, it would easily be an hour or two before she wound up disentangling herself from her lover's warm embrace to get back to the laptop's connection problems, and by then the issue would have vanished the way it always did and her class would be over. And then Nikki would have to try staring at the textbook all on her lonesome, struggling vainly to parse academic jargon that made her eyes blur and her head swim with confusion until the stress got to be too much for her and... and....

"That's eet, ma cherie," Marie's coaxing voice purred as Nikki felt herself pushing back the chair and rising to her feet. She knew it was a mistake, she knew she'd regret it later, but every time she thought about the consequences of that mistake her mind catastrophized everything so badly that she couldn't help needing a release from the stress and anxiety and tension. And Marie was right there, her magic fingers ready and waiting, and their massages always led to the most wonderful sex once Nikki's lover relaxed her mind and her body with that warm, soft, sensual touch. "Let eet bee for now."

Nikki nodded. "Is... is it okay if I'm not feeling very toppy right now? Je suis, um, e-epuisee?" She still wasn't getting the accent right, and her vocabulary was kind of all over the place, but Marie's face always lit up so brightly whenever Nikki spoke to her in French that she was happy to make the extra effort. And it was nice to know that she was still capable of learning something, at least. Lord knew she was fucking it up academically, and her computer skills seemed to have atrophied overnight, but at least her brain still processed language.

Marie chuckled. "Mais oui, Maitresse," she cooed, a playful smile crooking the corners of her lips. "Let your, uh, 'good gurrl' take care of you, c'est bon?" She lay Nikki down on the bed and undressed her, fingers finding more and better places to rub away that stress and tension until the supine woman's eyes rolled back in her head in quiet bliss. And then, when Nikki was entirely naked, Marie's tongue replaced her fingers and Nikki's eyelids slipped entirely shut.

Time dissolved into a warm, heady sea of pleasure for a while as Marie licked her clit again and again until Nikki's climaxes blended together into one long symphony of rapture. She tried to tell herself she was still being dominant, that it was Marie down between Nikki's thighs servicing her pussy and not the other way around, but she couldn't really sustain that role. The powerful, confident energy that seemed to come from outside Nikki's body and made her feel strong and invulnerable and carefree just wasn't there, and all she wanted to do was lie back and be caressed and hear someone telling her there was nothing to worry about.

And eventually, as Marie alternated between using her mouth and her fingers on Nikki's cunt and spoke to her in soothing French that Nikki barely understood, that was exactly what she got. She missed another class, she got a stern message from her professor to go with the increasingly ominous emails from her employers. But she felt happy. That had to be worth something.

* * * * *

Elise doesn't know what the Americans must think of her right now. She knows she's shocking them, she can see it on their faces and hear it in the tone of their incomprehensible babble as they stare in horrified fascination at Elise's awkwardly spread thighs and relentlessly rubbing fingers. She feels a little bit ashamed when she sees their dismayed expressions--not so much because of the sex, Elise knows that Americans are all prudes, but because of her own lack of self-control. She really hoped to be able to wait them out before she gave in to the insistent urge to masturbate.

She held out as long as she could, she really did. But the more she stared at that photo, the more she looked at the mysterious stranger who resembled her so closely living a life that Elise had no memory of, the deeper and more potent her arousal grew. Elise couldn't be expected to resist it forever, could she? Not when she knew that she could turn that arousal into pleasure with just a touch of her fingers and the memory of Maitresse's smooth, calming voice.

Maitresse's pleasure is always so much stronger than anything else in Elise's head. She has a vague, distant memory of other times like this, of a struggle in her brain that she only consciously notices as a growing arousal that gradually eclipses any distractions before they can even take root, but... but even that memory is itself overwhelmed and defeated by the heavy weight of ecstasy inside Elise's mind. Trying to resist it is like walking up an ever-increasing slope, the gradient rising and rising the harder she exerts herself until eventually she has to slide back down into soft, drowsy bliss.

She realizes she's reciting something under her breath, panting out the words, "I crave the freedom of surrender," over and over while her fingers brush against her stiff clit until the photo becomes a blur in front of her unfocused eyes, but she realizes with a giddy smile that the two Americans won't understand a word she's saying. She's never been so glad of a language barrier. She's never been so ecstatically happy to try and fail to understand why that makes her so glad.

The man and the woman look at each other, clearly thrown off by Elise's unexpected masturbatory reverie. They exchange a few words, but Elise is done processing the sounds coming out of their mouth now even in the loosest and most phonetic of senses. It's all just noise, she doesn't need to think about it and she doesn't need to worry about it. She's cocooned in Maitresse's pleasure now, wrapped up all snug and warm in a soft blanket of easy bliss that makes thought as unnecessary as it is impossible. Only her cunt matters. And her cunt is so much stronger than her will.

Elise sinks down to her knees, the position feeling so right and good and fulfilling that her eyes roll back in her head until the Americans become a mere fluttering blur seen out of the corner of a warm red haze. She clutches the edge of the door with her free hand, her voice slurred and almost incomprehensible even to another fluent French speaker as the pleasure intensifies. Everything is orgasm now, the stranger in the photo swept out of Elise's head on a tide of ecstasy as she masturbates away all the confusion and finds herself centered once more in the blank, blissful rapture of her true self. She's a good girl. She's Maitresse's good girl. That's all that matters.

Even when the man reaches down and begins shaking her by the shoulders, angrily shouting nonsense at her with increasing urgency, Elise barely notices. And her only response is to sink ever more helplessly into the endless bliss of Maitresse's control.

* * * * *

"Oh, does someone like that? Does she want to ask for more, mm?" Marie's teasing blandishments ended in a musical giggle, and whatever pretense of dominance Nikki had managed to muster up melted into desperate arousal as her brain fogged over and she lost herself to the hunger in her cunt. She spread her legs as wide as they would go and thrust her vulva up towards Marie's warm, wet mouth, but her lover had easily anticipated her actions and remained just out of reach, waiting for Nikki to reply. And as was so often the case these days, Nikki's will broke long before her supposed submissive's.

"Please," she whimpered, quietly astonished by how good her French was getting, "Please lick my pussy, please give me more, I, I need it, I... please!" After Marie had decided to stop speaking or responding to English around her, Nikki found herself even thinking in her lover's native language most days. It was really the only way she had to make herself understood--Nikki's visa had expired almost a month ago now, and she didn't dare leave the apartment out of an irrational worry that someone might ask her for identification and turn her in to the police when she couldn't produce it.

Even translating her professor's emails into English in her head felt too much like work these days, especially since the reward for figuring out what they were saying to her was usually another dire warning about missed assignments, missed lectures, and the very real danger of going onto academic probation if she didn't wade through the sea of incomprehensible jargon that her textbook had become lately. It was no wonder that Nikki had retreated ever deeper into the comforts of mindless sex with her girlfriend--thinking about the real world made her head hurt. Better to lose herself topping Marie than to stress herself out with questions about how she was going to make rent when she got home without a job to go back to.

Marie's tongue took all that away. Relaxing into that soft, sleepy pleasure that her lover's enthusiastic cunnilingus provided in abundance made Nikki's cares melt into orgasm after drowsy orgasm, allowing her to forget her troubles in a way that nothing else did. Even though she could never really hold on to the scene for very long anymore, even though her mind got slower and simpler whenever she got turned on, even though her commands dissolved into begging and pleading easier and easier these last few days until Marie could play her horny and distracted brain like a violin without any apparent effort....

"There's my pretty girl. There's a pretty little slut for Maitresse Marie." Nikki tried to recall the beginning of her train of thought and the point she was trying to make to herself. It seemed almost absurdly difficult.

She bucked her hips in helpless ecstasy as Marie's well-lubed fingers slid into her hungry cunt, and the wild surge of ecstasy she felt took everything else clean out of her head. All she could do was grunt in thoughtless agreement now, her mind so completely focused on the pleasure in her pussy that she barely even noticed what Marie was saying anymore. It was the same distraction from herself that she experienced when she was topping, only moreso--if Nikki felt like a different person when she was dominating someone, then that went double when she was flat on her back cumming like a porn star for 'Maitresse Marie'. No wonder her lover liked to submit so much. There was a kind of freedom to completely surrendering to another woman that Nikki found herself absolutely craving.

"My pretty little pet doesn't even want to be boring old Nikki anymore, does she?" Marie cooed sensuously. "She wants to be someone sweeter, someone sexier, someone more submissive for me." There was more after that, but Nikki wasn't really listening. She was grinding hard against the thumb on her clit, sinking into that deep and blissful relaxation that had become second nature to her after weeks of Marie's soothing massages, and the precise details of what the other woman was saying didn't matter so much. She only wanted to drift along on the tide of Marie's peaceful, calming voice and slide into amiable acceptance.

Nikki finally surfaced from the perpetual orgasm what felt like hours later, her brain still sluggish and dazed from the heavy dose of dopamine she'd gotten and her eyes prone to staring vacantly into the distance for long stretches as she drifted back to the hazy memories of Marie's touch. Nikki didn't need much convincing to curl up under the covers with her lover... her Mistress, if Nikki was being perfectly honest with herself... and simply letting herself be held and cuddled and comforted. Dominance could wait for another time. So could salvaging the wreck of her doctorate. She just wanted to forget she even existed for a while.

* * * * *

It's beginning to get genuinely terrifying when Maitresse finally shows up. Elise is struggling, her legs spreading not in their usual pose of submission to her owner but in an attempt to somehow hook the door frame with her ankles and make it harder for the American man to drag her out into the street. Elise's compulsion to masturbate, so irresistible under any other circumstances, has been overridden by a desperate desire to cling by her fingernails to anything she can grab. And her usual screams of hoarse, submissive pleasure are just... well, screams.

The woman is screaming too, telling the man something in an angry shout that would probably be a lot more comforting to Elise if she knew what the hell she was saying, and the whole thing is making a dreadful scene. Elise doesn't like lots of attention under the best of circumstances, and 'being dragged out of your own home by your armpits while your leggings rip in a really embarrassing place because you rub yourself through them so often that the fabric has worn thin' is not the best of circumstances. She's hoping and dreading that someone will call the police when she hears the sound of rushing footsteps approaching.

It's not a dramatic entrance. The Americans don't turn around to see Maitresse standing there with her arms crossed just waiting for them to notice her, a grim smile on her face and a witty quip on her lips that cuts them down to size. She's flushed and sweaty from sprinting nearly an entire block, her hands rest on her hips in a way that suggests two blocks more would have been about the limit of her capacity for sudden exertion, and when she finally does speak, the only thing she manages to say is, "What the hell are you doing with my girlfriend?" But it's enough as far as Elise is concerned. She wriggles free with a plea of desperate gratitude in her eyes.

The Americans turn to look at her, and Maitresse lashes out at them in a torrent of rapid-fire, heavily accented English--Elise didn't even know Maitresse spoke the language, she's only ever heard French coming from her owner's lips, but it's clear that she has a few hidden talents. The man and the woman try to stammer out a response, evidently caught off-guard by the sudden reframing of their behavior as assault and attempted kidnapping instead of some righteous rescue, but Maitresse isn't having it. She brushes angrily past them and into the apartment. Meekly, Elise follows.

Inside, she goes to the kitchen counter where Elise set her purse yesterday after getting back from shopping, and rifles brusquely through it. She comes up with Elise's national identity card and stomps back into the foyer, brandishing it like a crucifix in front of a vampire and shouting furiously at the Americans--Elise can only pick up a few words, mostly her name and the word "[police]", but it's not hard to get the gist of it from her tone and body language. She's letting them know that they're harassing a complete and total stranger who has proof of her identity right there, and they should shove off before Maitresse decides to stop being nice and call the gendarmes. It clearly works--the Americans put up their hands placatingly, pointing to the photograph to emphasize the honesty of their mistake.