tagBDSMYes, Virginia Ch. 04

Yes, Virginia Ch. 04


Chapter 4 : Gemma.

"Tell me how it feels, Pix."

She was on her side, back to me and knee drawn up. She was caressing herself to order. My hand was in her bum and my voice was in her ear, reminding her of the details of our night out as she obeyed every instruction.

"It feels wonderful. It's exactly what I can stand, painful but just bearable and it makes me want to come. That's what I told Mistress Marcella. She asked me how it felt when you did that, so I told her the truth. I couldn't lie about it."

"Why did she ask you?"

"She was fucking me, and I didn't want to enjoy it but I couldn't help myself. You know what I'm like when you do me from behind, and it was so big and she was so deep and fast. And she was telling me what a cheap dirty slut I was, coming for a stranger the moment my own Mistress had turned her back. She said her slave must be getting it in the arse by now; how she'd dangled that in front of you since we arrived and she knew you'd just want to hurt her slave there. She told me how it would give you such a thrill that it was my spit lubricating your way in. She made me tell her how it felt to have you bugger me. I was telling her how good that is when she made me come."

"Are you coming now, Pix?"

"I'm so close ..."

"Alright, my little Pixie, just you listen to me for a moment. Shall we play again? Would you like to invite them here? No answers, Pix, just listen to the questions. Our house and our rules, sweetie; I'd let you string slave up by the wrists and beat her as much as you want. Would you like that? Or would you like me to let Marcella fuck you again? Here in my bed this time?"

She convulsed and throbbed round my fingers as she buried her face into the pillows and just screamed out all the frustration and fury. Dear Lord that felt good. Degrading her until she made me come was splendid, of course it was; but degrading her until she came herself ... Pure dominant satisfaction. I gave her a moment to settle before whispering in her ear.

"Such a disloyal time to come, my Pixie. You're such a cheap slut."

Silence for a moment, and then a hesitant small voice.

"Could you hear me?"

"The other night? Yes, Pix. 'Oh yes, Mistress, fuck me deeper. Ohhhh yes ...' Heard it all."

"I'm sorry."

"OK sweetie, time to be serious. Marcy and I get this, I imagine slave does too, but it's a bit new to you so perhaps you haven't worked it out yet. This is all role-play, like I said. You haven't let me down or betrayed me, you haven't had sex with other women. I took you there because I wanted to; I used Marcy and her slave to fuck you with. Just tools to use on you, nothing more."

"I wish you would let me call you something."

"Nobody calls me Mistress, Pix. I don't like the word. On your back now."

She rolled on her back and I straddled her chest. I'm sure she expected me to want her tongue, but I was in the mood for something a little different. I settled myself down over her breast, feeling the astonishing intimate tease of her hard nipple pressing at my cunt; her areola wrinkling and aroused against my labia. I took her hand in mine and pulled her finger to my clitoris. It was still damp with her juices as I started to work it against my own.

"If you ever call me 'Mistress', Pix, I will hurt you."

I honestly do hate it, for too many reasons to list. I would never let a woman of mine use the word, I would never let my complete power over them be cheapened by that. Pixie wasn't quite mine. We both knew that in the end I was not her mistress. And she really had been so good, she deserved a little treat now and then.

"I'd like to serve you both at once. I'd like Mistress Marcella to fuck me again while Mistress Virginia ..."

I slapped her face. She gasped and sighed. She rubbed faster on me without any prompting.

"... sits on my face. Slap me again my Mistress. Hit me as I make you come."


We were still dancing. I'm sure she was thoroughly enjoying the symbolism: she had me pinned with the distant threat of the queen while her pawns moved in to close the deal.

"You mind if I smoke?"

We were alone, as usual. Probably a shame from her viewpoint, if there was ever a time for the languid click of the fingers and a slave appearing at my elbow with an ashtray, this was it. Instead she fetched one herself and told me to go ahead. She was slipping, so intent on the kill that she hadn't covered her queen at all. My knight danced in and knocked the bitch off.


"Do my best, Sal."

"I'm sure you do, V."

How exquisitely condescending of her. I really had done my best, and she'd been playing me like a fish. How had I missed what she could do with that bloody bishop?


She reset the board while I lit up.

"Want another?"

"In a while. Can we have some tea?"

"Not wine?"

"Trying to drink less, Sal."

She was watching me closely; heaven knows she was a good enough domme to see when she watched. She nodded at my cigarette holder.

"You have a bit of an Audrey thing, V?"

Very clever, but as it happens completely wrong. The holder is pure Holly, but I liked it because it was a gift from the most important woman in my life. On top of which, and unfashionable as this is, I've always preferred Jean Simmons for that time and look. I didn't argue with her, just smiled sweetly and blew smoke over her chess board.

"Alright, what's on your mind?"

"You hurt Lynn."

"Thought that was your plan. Did she decide she doesn't want to play with the big girls after all?"

"No, I think she rather enjoyed it. I know she enjoyed me telling her off afterwards for being such a tart. What about yours?"

"She'll live."

"I didn't mean that. I wouldn't say no to it becoming – "

"I would. Pix isn't a player. She's my responsibility."


"Always have been. It's what I do. Seriously, Sal, you're beating round the bush."

Which probably wasn't the most fortunate expression I could have come out with between the two of us. It drew a very knowing look from her that put a cold touch down the back of my neck.

"If you insist. Firstly, as a friend: I'd never dream of dictating a style to anyone. I'm sorry, V, 'Pixie' is borderline cute in itself, but 'Pix'? That's simply not something you call someone in the sort of relationship you claim to have."

She had a point, which I was in no mood to acknowledge.

"Alright, that's first. What's next?"

"You and me."

Say which?!

"I beg your pardon?"

She gave me a tremendously flirty smile that screamed 'if only' in reply to one of the stupider things I've ever said.

"Is it such an offensive idea?"

As a matter of fact, it was about as offensive as silk sheets after a warm bath. She was one good-looking woman after all. Not to mention that I'm Irish and husky, and she looked the way she did. There had been a particularly lurid celebrity fantasy scenario that had worked wonders for me back in the day; just the thought of Marcy and I getting Shakespearean on each other made me feel nostalgically randy.

It had been a hell of a kiss; let's be clear and honest, with my particular kinks I don't often get to reach orgasm with someone in my mouth and that was an amazing feeling. Imagine getting her in bed and out of that bustier so I could actually indulge myself with her breasts ...

Oh yeah, the mental image of that desperate sweaty grapple as we discarded clothing across the floor between here and the bedroom door was hot indeed. What then? The idea of her over my knee made my stomach flutter. I really wasn't up for 'oh please no, Mistress Marcella', not even for a giggle. The thing is, I don't do any of it for a giggle.

"Did a lot of wrestling once upon a time, Sal. It was fun then, but I'm not nineteen anymore. We can't share a cuppa without trying to Top each other."

"It doesn't always have to work that way, V."

What an extraordinary thing to say. Was she offering me straight sex and kissy cuddles now? I thought I knew the woman. Damn it, I did know her: I'd seen the look on her face just at the idea of hurting Pixie; I'd seen its pale reflection every single time we'd spoken to each other. You see, Sally and Victoria didn't really have one thing in common, probably would not even like each other too much. For all the flattery of letting me call her by her given name, that's not who we were together.

"Yeah, Marcy, it really does ..."

And because I didn't particularly like Sally, but I did understand and even genuinely respect the needs inside Marcella, I did her the courtesy of opening up something very deep and secret.

"... I cannot tell you how much I enjoy all the game-playing; all the humiliation and spanking, even the fucking. That's all foreplay to get me in the right mood, what I need is someone's tongue on me in complete surrender. The more work it takes to get them there, the better it is for me. I've no interest in returning the favour; I have no interest in you trying to make me. I am a very selfish person and I won't change, not even once for you."

"That's a shame."

It really was, but I'm far too old and set in my ways to cry over it.


We'd been very dirty in the shower, which is more sexual than sensual. As we got dressed, I was feeling the most absurd desire to take her back to my own flat and spend the rest of the afternoon in the bath together. As Sal would doubtless say, that didn't go with the sort of thing we were supposed to have at all. I choked it down, and in its place found a sudden overwhelming need for nice china and some really good cakes.

"What would you say to going out for tea?"

She looked flabbergasted. I could see that immediate calculation flitting across her mind: where can we go, what if I'm seen? I felt bad for raising the idea.

"I'd love to Virginia. Can we ... Oh no."


"I can't, remember, I've got an appointment at four."

"OK. I didn't realise."

"I told you this mor-"

She stopped dead. I should have had the sense and class to let it pass. I was hurt, so I didn't.

"No, Pix, you weren't with me this morning."

"I'm so sorry."

"I think maybe you should go."

"Suppose so."

She finished bundling up her things and left. I went from hurt to furious to simply dead and empty inside. I sulked around the studio for the rest of the afternoon doing housework. At the end of it I couldn't bear going home to sit alone with the darkness and my likely choice of music. I went to the Lord Roberts, took up my usual place at the end of the bar and soon wished I was at home in the dark. Without my exactly deciding to do so, it turned into a long session.

"Hello, V."

The barmaid was giving me that unsettling look of hers. She must be almost a decade younger than I am, and that evening she was managing to model too low and too tight at the same time, but I always got the vibe that I made her feel protectively maternal. Of course I didn't doubt that maternal from Lexy would turn very quickly incestuous if I ever said 'yes' to her offers. At the moment she was only offering another drink.

"Comfort me with apples, Lex, for I am sick of love."

"Say what, V?"

Christ! Had I said that out loud? Probably time to go home then. Maybe just the one more.

"Bottle of Westons please, love."


We were in bed. She crawled up into my armpit and snuggled down as the last tingling thrill of orgasm left me. I melted into the softness of the sheets and her body, and I felt that deep pack animal satisfaction of smelling myself all over another woman's face.

"Good girl, Pix."

I meant it, I was genuinely grateful for the pleasure she gave. I didn't mean it; it was a distancing tool to remind her that she was performing a task and not making mutual love. Kind to be cruel.

I wasn't supposed to get the post-coital blues, that had never been one of my many problems. I was just about at the snapping point. She was so very sweet and cute, and the sex was wonderful in its way. That was the problem, I'm not cut out for any way but my own.

"Virginia, what's wrong?"

"It's not working, is it?"

She wouldn't agree and she couldn't argue, so we simply lay there in the silence and sudden misery. I had never asked her why she got married or why she wanted to stay that way. If she wanted to tell me, I'd have listened, but it wasn't my business to intrude. Once again, that was the problem: she wanted someone to probe into and violate her body. Fun as that is, I needed to get into her mind as well.

My flat was crammed to overflowing with books I had read once and would probably never read again. I could have borrowed them from a library, but I didn't want to. I'm not a sharer. If something interests me, I like to possess it. Pixie interested; it's fairer to say she tantalised me. I wasn't quite in love, I didn't want to take her to bed for the night or cook for each other. I did want the odd meal out, maybe to play out that perennial scene of taking her round the sex shops for a dominant thrill. I wanted her to turn that damned phone off and be truly under my uncontested control until I was ready to stop.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you."

"What about you, Pix? Honestly, sweetheart, do you want me to hurt you?"

"You know how much I do."

"No. To tell you the truth, I know how much you like being hurt when you play. I know you don't mind it from men and you really get off on it from women. I don't know where I come into all that."

"I'm sorry ..."

"It's alright, Pixie. I'm not angry with you."

That was the simple truth. In a way I wished I could be, but it wouldn't come. I was just deeply sad, and I knew that would shortly start to ruin the sex between us in a way anger never could. I'm cruel and vicious, I can fuck a woman when I'm angry with her and find it a hell of a rush.

"I'll always be so grateful to you for bringing this out. I know it's not enough, but I'll always feel that part of me belongs to you. Please let me say it, Virginia, just once."

"Go on, Pix, if you want to."

"Thank you Mistress."

I pulled her against me. Her mouth was still full of the taste of me, and even with the sadness of our conversation she was so wet around my fingers. I couldn't help feeling that pounding wave of dominance that carries me off whenever I put my tongue in the mouth of a woman who has given me head. Then she tried to kiss my throat, but I pushed her further down, and spoke to her as gently as I could.

"Please kiss my breasts, Gemma."


We never did do the sex shop thing, of course. It was simply too risky for her. For all my faults, the idea of provoking a crisis, of ruining her life for spoiling my fun, never appealed to me. I liked her, she was tremendous fun in bed. She was never going to be The One. It wasn't worth fighting over.

We went on the web and between us chose a thin steel band locking collar design that I had made for her. One day when I was wandering idly round antique shops I spotted a very pretty handmade Victorian padlock. At our next meeting I told her to go out on her own and buy it for me. I outlined the rest of my plan as well. We both had a bit of a cry, agreed it was all for the best, and then had what I will freely admit was the least satisfying sex session of our time together.


I didn't bother to ask this time. I simply indulged the provocative insult of lighting up in her house uninvited. The only time we'd played sexually together, I had gone out of my way to calm Pixie down. She had never seen or heard me with my professional face on before.

"Alright, Sal, I'm tired of pissing about with you. Fancy playing for stakes this time?"

"Like what?"

"One game, loser forfeits. I win, you come over to my place and do exactly what I say until I get bored of you. You win, I'll give you Pixie."

"Fucking hell, V. Are you serious?"

"Never been more so. Price too high for you, little girl?"

She set up the board. As she made her opening move, I took my second-best pair of police cuffs from my pocket and clanked them down on the table.

"You didn't need to bring those, I've got enough here already."

"I don't want you wearing your own, bitch. I want you in mine."

She was by far the better chess player. I was either very lucky indeed, or better at messing with her head. Or perhaps she was so good that she could play to lose without making it apparent. Somehow, to my astonishment, I won. I told her to stand up.

In the fantasy, I had slapped her so hard she spun right round; when we came to it I just grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her back to me. I cuffed her hands behind, then pushed her over the back of her sofa and thrust my hand up her skirt.

"Pay your debts, Sal?"

"What do you want?"

"I want you for my sex toy, Mistress Marcy. I won't burn or cut, my word on it, anything else is fair game. You come round my place tomorrow afternoon and you serve me any way I tell you to."

"Yes, V. Whatever you say."

"Oh, and don't bring that ridiculous hat either."

I dangled the key in front of her face, giving her just long enough to consider the scenario of struggling round the place with her hands locked behind her until one of her slaves found her like it. Then I smiled my most innocent smile and undid them.

I left without another word. Without even wiping my hand off against her face. I couldn't resist the temptation of a swift lick as I walked down her path.


I was wearing exactly the same outfit as I had for Pixie's first session, and sitting on the anteroom chair with my riding crop across my knees. The bell rang. I told her to come up and let herself in, then resumed my seat.

She was, naturally enough, wearing a long coat but even so the haircut and makeup combined with what you could see of her boots must have turned a head or two outside. She shut the door behind her and stood waiting my pleasure. I didn't bother to get up for her.

"Lose the coat. On the floor, I don't keep hooks for the likes of you."

She let it drop to the lino before taking one step away. Boots, bustier, tiny black g-string barely concealing her shaven lips.

"What the fuck is that?"

"I thought you might like a –"

"You don't think. You don't guess or anticipate or have clever ideas, you do exactly what I say: no more, no less. I don't want shy or tease. I don't want scared little Sal hiding it away. I want Miss Marcy the dress-up domme. I want you demonstrating an understanding that all your slinky kinky counts for nothing in front of a better woman. Get that thing off now and show me your cunt, bitch ..."

My speech had carried me to my feet and facing her. As soon as she had them off I tapped the crop under her chin to straighten her up. I grabbed a handful of her gloriously tight bum.

"... You've got a nice arse, Marcy. Nice and strong. Those are the good firm muscles that pounded so hard into my little Pixie, aren't they Marcy?"

I like breaking strong women. If I'd been in the mood, Topping a professional domme whose work I admired would have been close to heaven for me. My mood wasn't there that day, but even so I got such a kick out of the hint of fear in her eyes. Was all this payback for something she'd done that evening? Not really, at least not in any sense she could imagine yet.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Surprises, Marcy. Not your place to ask in advance. Kneel down now. Kneel down like a good sub, and then show me whether I've been right all this time about what pretty tits you must have under there."

I had been. They were soft and white, and looked just about perfect to fill my hand. I gave her nipples a slow tease with the tip of my crop. I slid it down over her belly and between her legs. I told her to clasp her hands behind her back before starting to tap the lightest slow rhythm over her cunt with the crop. I didn't say a word for ten minutes; just the two of us alone with that steady patter that would never lead anywhere and the sound of her breathing getting shorter and louder all the time. At length I stopped tapping and gave her a finely calculated tease around but not on her clit. I raised the crop and held the end with its slight fresh shine in front of her face. I left it there, without any instruction, until she licked it of her own accord.

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