My two-month anniversary at the club – not that anybody noticed or had any reason to. While I’d quickly become a regular here, I had also learned that it seemed just as difficult to make contact with interested men as it was in my vanilla life. It wasn’t for my lack of trying. Fresh out of college, I had wasted my meagre savings and almost all of my first two wages on kinky outfits, and damn was that stuff expensive. The purple satin choker I was wearing alone had cost almost hundred bucks. But it was supposedly pretty durable and had an artful buckle at the back. It was a collar for the un-collared.

It’s not like nobody talked to me. People were pretty friendly here in the club. I often was pulled into conversations by subs, living vicariously through their naughty adventures, and I had talked to quite a number of dominants. The problem was that the ones that attracted me, usually of the taller, muscular type, tended to be either a bit too single minded for my taste or, unfortunately, monogamous and already attached. My need was apparent, in hindsight, and I grew intense, too intense. Both subs and dominants lately tended to act too engrossed in their conversations to take notice of me.

Soft music was playing, and I leaned back in my plush leather chair and let my eyes roam. It was still early, and the club was slowly filling up, as usual on a Friday when people got home from work, and it took them time to have dinner and get ready. In the many stories I read, it had always seemed like you entered a BDSM club and were immediately right in the middle of debauched sex. But that wasn’t my reality. There were a few private rooms, but besides getting the tour on my first visit, I had never stepped a foot inside one. In the public areas, there was of course some nudity and a bit of touching here and there, but nothing too overt. This was for meeting, not playing, for most of the guests.

I’d have been happy to just meet, if it was Mr. Right Guy. But my hopes that this would happen had gone from roaring flames to dying embers over the last two months.

I sighed, and then I realized that I had been staring at a woman. She had entered my line of sight and sat down on a bar stool next to one of the many cocktail tables. It was her outfit that caught my attention and puzzled me a little, like a swimsuit made from thin rubber, cut high on the sides and exhibiting her prominent hip bones. My first impression was that of a sub with a poor choice of clothes. She was thin like a rail, and her chest was almost completely flat, just two tiny bumps where I thought her nipples would be reflecting the light differently. She was pale. Her long legs were bare. The platform shoes were a weird mix of ankle shoe and military boot. The short cut of her black hair with the longer strands near the front reminded me of a Resident Evil movie, though I was unable to pinpoint which one.

Her gaze suddenly met mine, and felt caught. Blushing, I quickly shifted my eyes away and pretended to let it roam over the room. Everybody here tried so hard to look their best and play their assets to the maximum. So why was she exposing her lack of breasts so brazenly?

I spotted Master Rodger next to the dance floor and waved at him, earning myself a smile and wave back. He had a cute sub, Lucy, and they were totally in love. They both worked in a large real estate company, and Lucy was actually his boss and ten years older. I had no idea how that worked in everyday life, but they seemed to have no problem with it.

A rubber gloved hand suddenly slid a glass with orange something in front of me, and I almost yelped.

“I startled you.”

My head jerked around, and I found myself face to face with the woman who had caught me staring. She pulled another leather chair close to mine at a bit of an angle and sat down.

I felt caught, and guilty, and taken off guard, and before I could think, I heard myself stammer, “I’m sorry.”

She held my gaze for a moment, and then she laughed softly. “Nice,” she said, winking at me, and reached for the other glass on the table. “I am Jazz.” She held up her glass, and I finally managed to move again and took the one she had brought me.

I clinked the rim to hers and took a deep breath. “I’m Sarah-Marie.”

We both sucked on our straws. I was feeling strange.

She gave me a quick smile and leaned back. “That’s a mouthful. Your name, I mean. I think I’ll call you Sam. You can call me Miss.”

Don’t gawk, I told myself. She most definitely wasn’t a sub, then. “I’m not looking for a woman,” I told her, then felt bad. “Sorry. I’m being overly blunt.”

That made her laugh again. “You’re funny, Sam,” she said. “Do you mind me calling you Sam?”

I had to set the glass down. “I’d rather you call me by my real name.”

“If you can keep from staring at my chest for five minutes.”

I gulped hard, and my gaze moved up to her face again. My cheeks went up in flames. “I’m sorry,” I said again. The third time I was apologizing within little more than a minute, I realized.

“I don’t really mind it, you know,” she said. “Don’t sit so straight, that gives me back pain just from looking at you.”

She was right. I was sitting here all tense and upright like a schoolgirl waiting for a bad grade. I forced my shoulders to relax and leaned back, taking care to keep my eyes on her face. God, I was acting all passive. It was so not my normal self. I needed to get on the initiative at least for a moment. “I’m not sure what to make of you,” I told her, then pointed to my drink. “Or this.”

“Afraid I might be coming onto you?”

“Not afraid, but...”

“The thought crossed my mind, I admit.” She swirled her drink. “You have lovely lips. The way you were staring at my chest, I couldn’t help wondering what they would feel like on my nipples. I love having my nipples licked and sucked, I can sometimes do that for hours. Yours look like they’d be a perfect fit.”

I blushed. I mean, it’s not like this was something I’d even consider, but I couldn’t help picturing her nearly flat chest with prominent nipples and felt a strange curiosity what it would look like to see soft, female lips caressing them. “Well, I’m not into girls,” I said a little defensively and instantly rued it. “I’m-”

“Sorry, yes, I know that by now. If you were my sub, you’d get five with the cane for every time you need to apologize for being rude, and then you’d thank me by sucking these nipples.”

It was just because I’d been running hollow the last two months, with just my fingers and me for the night, I swear. That little needy moan at the thought of feeling a cane across my poor backside had nothing to do with her.

She laughed softly. She had such a melodic voice. She tweaked her nipples through the thin rubber, and then tapped them with her glossy red nails. “I believe this was less than five minutes, Sam,” she said.

I so wanted to die, but she was right. “Yes, Miss,” I admitted, and then I bit my lip for a second before looking at her face. My heart was hammering madly for a reason unknown to me. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll leave you to your man hunt, Sam,” she said, getting up. She leaned over me and put her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to crane my neck to meet her gaze. “But I promise you, if you’re here tomorrow and still haven’t found your master, I’m going to claim you as mine. You know what that means.”

I got a last glimpse of her chest from up close. Her nipples were probably huge under the tight layer of rubber. Then I realized what I had been thinking, and I felt like crying while I watched her walk away because it all didn’t make a tiny bit of sense.

My mind was all over the place for the rest of that evening. I headed home early, the first time I did that. I had tried to talk up one of the doms, but I had been unable to focus, and most of them had been preoccupied anyway.

~~*

I told my reflection that she was being stupid. Then I tugged the purple tube dress in place and winced at the lewd woman who stared back at me. I would be constantly pulling it up so my girls didn’t get exposed, the lack of a bra equating to a lack of friction, and the fabric too smooth to stay in place. Just as with the cleavage, I’d have to pull down the hem to keep it from riding up my ass. But I was getting desperate. I needed to be noticed by a master, before...”

“You’re being stupid!” I said again. Why was I getting worked up about Jazz? It wasn’t like she could force me to submit to her. I was straight. Everything at the club was consensual.

I slipped into my torture heels. They were just slutty, high heeled sandals with transparent straps, but I didn’t normally wear heels, so they always started to hurt after about two hours. The advantage was that they shaped my legs nicely and tightened my butt, that’s why I decided on them for tonight. Slipping my credit card and driver’s license into the small pocket in the dress, I only needed to finish my makeup, and then I was ready to head out.

~~*

I’d been on the prowl for two hours. On Saturdays, the club filled up quickly. There were a few new faces, but finding a willing master turned out as elusive as ever.

I was just walking along the packed dance floor on my way to the restroom when a hand grabbed my arm out of nowhere and pulled me into a group of women.

“Hey!” I gasped, stumbling a little, but a second hand gripped my shoulder and steadied me. “Oh.”

“Girls, this is Sam,” Jazz said, wearing the same outfit as yesterday. “She’s been staring holes in my chest all of yesterday.”

My face started burning. The women around me all seemed to be dominants like her. Well, not exactly like her. Their clothes and appearances fit the unofficial dress code more closely. Most of them had knee-high boots, heavy leather dresses and strict buns announcing their preference.

“That’s not true, jazz!” I said hotly.

“You’re calling me a liar?” she asked, her voice suddenly like ice. “In front of my friends? You’re telling them you didn’t stare at my chest for ages?” Her eyes narrowed, and she stared hard at me.

“Uh-oh,” someone whispered close by.

Oh fuck! “It’s not-” I stammered. Her eyes narrowed even more. “I didn’t-” She puckered her lips. “I’m sorry, Miss,” I whimpered, and I felt a wave of relief wash through me when her expression softened.

“That’s better,” she said. “But you I told you what happens to rude girls.”

Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. Our gazes locked, and I could read the message clear as the day. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and there wasn’t the tiniest doubt in them that she would do what she had promised. “Where’s your master, honey?” she asked, taking my hand in hers.

“I – I haven’t found one,” I admitted.

She took my other hand too, clucked her tongue and shook her head slowly. “That’s too bad, Sam. You know what that means.”

I could have said no. I could have run. Yet, something about this situation, something in the way she took control, wiped away all sense of self preservation. “Yes, Miss,” I said, my knees nearly giving out, a strange heat rushing through my lower body.

She let out a joyful laugh and gripped my left hand tighter. “Time for a bit of fun, ladies. Who wants to see me cane her virgin ass?”

“No!” I yelped in shock. “You can’t-”

She whirled around and glared at me.

“Not in front of-”

Her eyes turned to slits.

“I’m sorry, Miss!”

She lightly patted my cheek. “It’s okay, honey. Ten is a much nicer number anyway, don’t you think so?”

I stared, and fought to breathe, and squeezed my thighs together. “Yes, Miss.”

~~*

She was so clinical! The private room had all kinds of bondage devices and benches, but she had me walk to the centre and bend over so the others could stand in a half circle behind me. Then she pulled up my dress, tugged my panties down to my knees and fetched the cane.

“Please,” I whispered. “I haven’t...”

“I know, honey,” she said and ran her soft hand over my exposed rump. “I know it’s your first time, and I know you’re so incredibly embarrassed right now. But there’s no helping it. You were rude, weren’t you?”

“Yes, Miss,” I admitted once more, dying with shame, trying to ignore the chuckles and giggles. The blood was rushing in my ears, and I hated that her touch felt so good and made me moist.

“You don’t have to count or thank me this time,” Jazz said warmly. “Just focus on staying like you are.”

I expected a sharp swishing sound like in the stories I had read, but there was no audible warning, just a quiet snapping sound followed by a line of fire on my right butt cheek.

I yelped.

The cane snapped down again, maybe an inch lower and I yelped louder. Three more swats fell, and my poor butt cheek glowed and throbbed.

Then I heard her change to my other side. “Ready?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes, Miss.”

It hurt. Not like ‘fuck, I can’t scream loud enough’ bad, but enough to add a little blur to my vision. Even when she was done, I could still feel each individual line.

She slid my panties back into place and pulled my dress down. “Good girl,” she said softly. “You can stand up now.”

Once I was upright, she took my hand, led me to a leather padded bench and had me kneel on it. I avoided the stares from the others – and in doing so, I found myself once more staring at her rubber clad chest. She wiggled her arms through the top opening and rolled the rubber down.

She really had no breasts at all. But she had two large, round, dark red areola, and each was crowned with a huge nipple, thicker than my middle finger and over an inch long. She stepped close, put one foot on the bench next to my hip and cupped the back of my head. My breath started racing when she pulled my head closer and closer towards her left nipple.

“What do you say, Sam?” she suddenly asked. I could feel the heat in my face that radiated from her body and smelled the flowery scent of her soap and a hint of sweat.

At first, I was at a loss, but then I remembered. “Thank you, Miss,” I said obediently and licked my lips.

Her nipple slipped between my lips, and a lightheaded feeling washed over me. I wasn’t bi – was I? Why did this feel so right, then? I gently sucked, feeling her nipple get even stiffer between my lips, and she honoured that with a soft sigh. After a little while, I got more daring and used my tongue too, which drew another deep sigh from her.

I licked and sucked. After a few minutes, she guided me to her right nipple, and I started anew.

Her breathing grew faster. Her chest started shivering. I heard quiet, wet slapping and needed a minute to realize she was playing with her pussy.

When she came, it was a quiet event. She exhaled with a gasp, and her hand pushed me tightly against her chest. She shivered for a few seconds, then I felt her relax, and her breathing evened out.

She stepped away and slipped her arms into the rubber once more. “You’ve got drool here,” she said with a grin and touched the corner of her mouth.

I hastily wiped my face with my forearm and blushed.

“Show’s over, ladies,” she declared, and the others filed out.

“So,” she said.

“So,” I echoed, my voice meek, the effort it took me to meet her eyes almost killing me.

“Can you stay here for a few minutes while I fetch something?”

I let out a shuddering breath. “Sure, Miss.”

“Be right back.”

~~*

It really didn’t take her long. When she approached, she held something behind her. “I got you a present. But first a question. Would you like me to stop calling you Sam?”

I bit my lip. For a moment, I wasn’t sure. Sarah-Marie would never have done what I just did with a woman, but Sam did. But that was stupid. I was still me. “I think I’d like that.”

“I’d been thinking, you know. Sam is still such an ordinary name. So I came up with a pet name for you. How do you like the name Peeper?”

I think you could have heard a pin drop. “Peeper?” I asked, my cheeks blushing.

“Because,” she said, moving her hands to her front, “you’ve been peeping at my tits all of yesterday. I’d like you to wear this.” She placed a supple black leather collar into my hands.

I stared at her. Then I stared at the collar. Up to this, it had been a one-time thing, a crazy, temporary excursion from reality. From sanity. Jazz had bought a collar for me! It looked shiny and sturdy, but it was so pliable and soft inside. It had to have cost a fortune. My heart started hammering madly, and my fingers shook a little. I had trouble holding the oval plate at the front steady. In large, flowery golden letters, it said ‘Peeper’.

I gulped hard.

“Turn it around,” she whispered. Our eyes met, and I didn’t see her usual bravado. For a short moment, she was vulnerable, and it changed everything, because I was rendered breathless by the realization how much she wanted me.

My fingers shook harder. The backside was inscribed too. “Nipple Sucker. Property of Miss Jazz.”

Property of Miss Jazz. No looking for a master anymore. No large cock fucking me into oblivion. Hell, Miss Jazz hadn’t even touched my private parts yet. This was so far from everything I had expected and hoped for when I started my foray into the BDSM scene.

“This must have been fucking expensive,” I said quietly, putting the collar on my lap so I could undo my choker. “Would you please help me with the buckle, Miss?”

“Of course, my little Peeper,” she said with a radiant smile.

I whimpered when she closed the buckle and ran finger along the leather. It was tight but comfortable.

“You said ‘fucking’. Don’t you think swear words are rude, Peeper?” she asked after stepping back appreciating the view for a while.

“I guess they are,” I said. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

By the time she had fetched the cane; my naked ass was sticking up into the air. The swats she gave me were harder than before and covered both cheeks, eliciting a sharp grunt from me each time before I could announce the count and thank her.

This time, she didn’t fix my clothes. I knelt with my pussy and ass exposed while I demonstrated my appreciation.

“Straighten your clothes, Peeper,” she said when she had come down from her climax. “Let’s get a drink. Then we’ll have a long talk about stupid newbie’s and little things like safe words.”

I froze for a long minute, the reality that I completely forgotten about this fundamental rule a harsh slap to my face. Hastily, I wiggled up my panties, pulled down my dress and climbed off the bench. “I’m sorry, Miss,” I said, cowed. “I guess I do need that talk.”

~~*

I stared at my reflection and bit my lip. Normally, I wouldn’t want to be caught dead in a getup like this, but it was what Miss Jazz had selected. We’d had that talk about safety protocols and communication, and she had peeled away layer after layer of ignorance from my naive mind like band-aids from an itching scab. I had been lucky. I had been desperate and so horny that I had been easy snatching. I had folded so easily to a little pressure and accepted everything that was handed to me. I had set myself up for abuse. And I had not given her a safe word, nor talked with her about limits. She could have tied me up and gagged me, and I would have willingly gone along with it, letting her put me in a position where it would have been too late.

The clothes she selected were my punishment for that stupidity. I had been ready to give her my address, but she had insisted to deposit it at a small store in my neighbourhood, reminding me that we had just met and that trust, no matter how readily given, needed some time to mature.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t demand every bit of trust you have and then some when we meet again,” she had said, and the memory made my cheeks blush and my pussy throb.

I glared at my reflection once more. Fucking pink! I wouldn’t have thought they even made Hello Kitty bikinis in my size. The shoes with four inch heels were a perfect match. To finish the pink horror, she had even found matching opaque thigh-highs. I looked ridiculous.

My nipples pushed prominently through the thin fabric. She had cut out the padding, both from the top and from the bottom, and I had to bow to her keen eye. The sizing was just perfect, the bottoms so tight that all my tugging and shifting couldn’t get rid of the camel toe.

I prayed that I wouldn’t get pulled over when I drove to the club. Her instructions had been clear. I wasn’t allowed to cover up on my way there.

~~*

We were sitting in a circle of leather armchairs. I was half lying on the armrest of Miss Jazz’s chair, listening to their conversation and feeling deliciously awkward. Her hand was idly stroking up and down the inside of my thigh, keeping that flame of arousal burning between my legs.

I wasn’t the only sub. Jenny was sitting on Mistress Donna’s knee. Lyra was kneeling next to Miss Rose and staring adoringly and unblinking up at her face. Romy, Miss Clare’s sub, and Mistress Jessica’s sub that everybody called Puppet, was cuddling on a large cushion on the floor, whispering and giggling.

At some point, the dommes got into a discussion whether the size of a clit was in any way related to its sensitivity. The talk turned a bit heated.

I stiffened. Miss Jazz’s fingers slipped inside my bottoms and parted my lips. My breath hitched when her fingertip touched my clit. The finger stopped moving, and I heard a quiet, surprised, “Oh!”

She pulled out her hand, and I thought for a moment that was it, but then she sat up, put the hand against my tummy and reached for the waistband with her other hand.

“Miss Jazz!” I hissed in panic when she leaned closer and pulled the waistband down, but she ignored me.

Within a second, my pubic mound was exposed to all the women, and then her hand slid down and her fingers spread my pussy lips. My already aroused clit swelled even more, and I wanted to die on the spot when her loud gasp drew all eyes towards my genitals and the one part of my body I had always been self-conscious about, ever since I had realized that I was different than my friends. They called their clits ‘pearls’ or ‘tiny nubs’. Mine, when completely stiff, was over an inch long and thicker than my pinkie finger.

“Oh my god,” Mistress Jessica gasped, covering her mouth with one hand and pointing between my legs with the other. “You’ve got to see this!”

I whimpered, but after a sharp look from Miss Jazz I stayed still while the dommes and even a few of the subs took close-up looks of my freaky clit, all of them gasping and staring.

The last one was Romy. She was a cute blond girl, a little on the chubby side but it was well distributed. The first thing I had noticed about her was her large, blue eyes. Those eyes were now staring at my bean, and she tentatively reached out towards it.

“If you touch her, you have to bring her off,” Miss Jazz said sharply.

My mind screeched to a halt. I stared into Jazz’s eyes. There was a challenge there. She lifted a brow for a moment, narrowed her eyes, and I realized she was reminding me of the talk we’d had a week ago.

I forced my eyes back on Romy. “Please don’t!” I pleaded meekly.

I had told Jazz how much a rush it had been when she exposed my ass to everybody, and she had asked me how I felt about the idea of being touched by others.

No fantasy could have come close to the emotional roller coaster I found myself in. I was terrified, aroused, excited beyond belief and dying with shame, all at the same time.

A strangled sound escaped my throat when Romy guided her fingers to her mouth and let a big wad of drool roll over her lip. She rubbed her fingertips together to spread the drool, and then she reached out once more.

I had a few boyfriends play with my clits before, but it was nothing like this. My nerves were super charged, and her touch was that of a girl knowing exactly how sensitive a female’s parts were. Her fingertips spread the moisture over my bean with flighty dexterity, and then she formed a perfect little sleeve with her fingers that she slid over it without exerting any pressure.

Her eyes moved to my face.

I groaned and started trembling. Like a tiny vagina around a matching cock, she fucked my clit. It felt unbelievable.

When I touched myself, I used a single finger, any more was too much, too fast, and I had to back down. I didn’t know how she knew, but not doing it myself opened me up to an intensity I otherwise wouldn’t be able to stand. I heard myself moan in time with her finger’s sliding motion, sparks shooting through my centre and lighting me on fire.

My moans got louder, started sounding desperate. I realized I was making a spectacle and tried to keep quiet, but I couldn’t. The whole club would soon be aware of my debauched display! That revelation made it even worse, the breathless fear of discovery like an injection of an aphrodisiac to my lust addled brain. My moans turned even louder and rose in pitch, got faster and faster. I was squeaking and whining, losing all sense of orientation.

All of a sudden, Romy pulled her fingers away, leaned forward, captured my clit with her lips and started flicking it hard with her tongue.

For what felt like a minute, I couldn’t breathe. Pleasure built around my clit which I had never felt. It was too much. I was going to die from pleasure. Romy stared up at my face, her eyes wide, her cheeks sucked in, and I lost it.

“Ooooooooohhhh fffffuuuuccckkkkkk yyyeeeessssss!” I screamed, clamping my thighs tightly around her head and shaking with these incredible waves of pleasure. It felt like I came and came forever, Romy’s tongue never stopping, never slowing, pushing me to the very limits of pleasure that my body could provide.

Then it got too much, painful in its intensity, and I opened my legs and pushed against her forehead. “Stop, please!” I whimpered urgently.

Thankfully, she withdrew, and I could finally take a real breath again.

She stood up, a shy grin on her lips that made her look adorable. “Thank you so much, Romy,” I whispered, and her grin got wider.

A little pinch on my butt cheek almost made me yelp and brought me a bit closer to reality. “Thank you, Miss Jazz,” I said, meaning it. She was the one who allowed or denied others to play with me.

~~*

It was our two months anniversary. Two months since I had given up my futile search for a master and accepted her collar. I knelt next to the door and watched her inspect my bedroom, opening doors, sliding out drawers, rummaging through my clothes. It felt embarrassing. She grinned, frowned, judged, approved and dismissed. She went to the bedside table on the far end and opened the drawer. Her hands found the leather bound book and took it out. She ran a finger over the front, and then turned to me. “This is your diary, Peeper.”

“Yes, Miss Jazz.”

Her gaze kept focused on my eyes while she slowly opened her purse. There would have been all the time in the world to stop her, but I kept silent and watched her slip it inside, shivering a little when it was swallowed and the zipper closed over it.

Suddenly, she sat down on the edge of the bed, facing away from me.

“Miss Jazz?” I asked, getting worried when she didn’t make a sound for more than a minute.

A strange, strangled sound escaped her throat. She slowly got up, walked around the bed and sat down again so I could see her face. This time, I recognized that strangled sound as a guilt-laden chuckle. “Some Mistress I am,” she said.

Was that a tear on her cheek? I grew really worried now.

“Giving you hell about rules and proper communication. But you were just so sweet and clueless, and I thought I’d guide you the first few steps, and then you’d meet the master you were looking for and both of us could look back on a great time.”

“Miss Jazz?”

“Oh, Peeper. I’m a bad Mistress. I want to do so many things with you. To you. But I haven’t been upfront, and it’s my kink, I can’t just switch it off.”

She looked so apologetic and terrified. Whatever it was, it had to be serious. “Why – why don’t you just tell me what this is about?”

She took a few shaking breaths. “We talked about it,” she said quietly and gulped hard. “You made it clear that pee games are a hard limit. I should have told you then. I shouldn’t have led you on.”

I understood. In the last two months, I had witnessed all kinds of kinks. Some were just funny games. Others were integral parts of personalities. Like my need to be embarrassed. Jazz’s kink, besides having her nipples worshiped, seemed to be wet games.

“You dream of peeing on me?”

She gulped again. “On you,” she said quietly and looked away. “And also...” She bit her lip, and then let out a dejected sigh.

If felt strangely calm all of a sudden, and a warmth bloomed in my chest that made my heart stumble, a feeling that exceeded attraction and trust. I gasped, and a tear suddenly trickled down my cheek. She took my reaction for something different and hid her face.

My knees protested a little when I got up. I took her hand, pulled her up and led her out into the hallway.

“What?” she asked, puzzled when I didn’t turn right towards the entrance but left instead.

I walked into the bathroom and let go of her hand. My hands were shaking when I stripped for her. I glanced at the plush rug in the centre and decided I’d just throw it in the wash, so I got down and lay on my back.

“Peeper?” she asked, wide-eyed, unsure.

“Only because it’s you, Miss Jazz,” I said my voice scratchy. “Please don’t tell anybody, or I’ll die with embarrassment.”

She stood frozen for a minute, and then her hands were a flurry, almost ripping off her skirt and struggling to pull off her rubber panties.

The expression in her eyes when she lowered herself to her knees over my face was one of pure adoration, and my heart somersaulted. She gently settled her naked butt on my chest, and then she tapped my chin with her index finger until I opened my mouth wide.

“I’m such a pig,” she said softly, spreading her pussy lips, and started to play with herself. “The first thing I thought when I caught you staring that day was that I’d love to pee all over your cute face. To push my pussy against your sweet lips and fill your warm mouth with my piss. To watch your reluctant struggle when you swallow my pee and feel it fill your insides.”

Her fingers started rubbing circles over her clit. She let out a gasp and started peeing. She never stopped masturbating, and the pee splattered everywhere, my face, my hair and the tiles around me.

“Fuck, yes!” she gasped, and she lifted off a little and slid forward while her pee still flowed, finally pressing her mount over my mouth. Hot, salty, bitter liquid filled it quickly, and I struggled, as she had promised, to swallow fast enough. It seemed to go on forever, but then the flow ebbed into a trickle and stopped.

I breathed in the strong scent of arousal and pee, and the shame of what I had just done filled every pore of my being. She lifted her pussy off me and slid back, further than I had expected. She wiggled her left leg under my right and folded my leg up, and I understood. Her pee-soaked pussy pressed against mine, wet and stinky and soft, and she started moving her hip in a circle. Pussy lips slid against pussy lips. Clit against clit. We started breathing hard, in synchronicity, then moaning, and then screaming out our joined climax.

“You reek,” she said, minutes later, lying on top of me, brushing a pee-soaked lock from my face.

“I reek of you, Miss Jazz. What does that tell us?”

“Impertinent little sub,” she chided with a giggle.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” I said with mock contriteness.

“Oh, you’ll be sorry soon enough.”

“Before or after we had a shower?”

She rolled off, turned me around and swatted my butt hard. “Does that answer your question?”

“Not sorry yet!” I singsong.

~~*

I shivered a little, partly from being out in the chilly night air in just a flimsy robe, and partly from my nerves. The small bonfire did little to warm me. Miss Jazz’s friends, who also had become my friends, stood in a circle around us. It had been a godsend that she had to go away for the last two weeks for a training, coming back just in time for our one-year anniversary. I had moved in with her six months ago.

“Do you recognize this, Miss Jazz?” I held out a sheet of paper to her.

She had no clue what all of this was about. Mistress Donna had thankfully offered her property for the celebration, but all Miss Jazz knew was that we had been invited to a private get-together.

It dawned on her now that this was more. “That’s the list of your limits,” she said slowly and looked me in the eyes.

“I’m surrendering my limits to you, Miss Jazz. We’ve been together for a full year as of today. I trust you to the moon and back. Some limits, you already helped me overcome. The others, I leave at your discretion now. Please throw the sheet into the fire. Let my limits dissolve to ashes and scatter in the wind. Make me utterly, completely yours.” And for the first time I managed to shape the feeling I had in that tear-filled moment in my bedroom into words. “I love you, Miss Jazz. I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”

Her hand started shaking. Tears streamed down her cheeks and gleamed like pearls in the flickering light. I prayed I had not judged things wrong, that I had not gone too far.

“You stupid sub you,” she said with a strange voice. Her eyes widened, and I felt a wave of panic, but then her arm reached out and the sheet was caught by the flames. Embers danced high into the night sky, and I started crying too.

Then she was there, hugging me hard, mashing her lips over mine, kissing, licking and biting.

“Yours!” I gasped.

“Mine!” she growled.

“Wait!” I gasped.

She let go and stepped back, breathing as hard as I did.

“There’s one more gift from me.” One night, after coming back from the club, we opened a bottle of wine together and got rather tipsy. She let her guard down and confessed that she was a bit sad I didn’t want tattoos. Though she was trying to be close lipped, I learned that she had a recurring fantasy of seeing herself immortalized on my skin in a scene of utter domination and submission.

When our anniversary came up, I remembered it. My stance against tattoos had been born from the fear that I might one day regret having them, especially ones who were linked to a partner. The examples of Hollywood stars seeking to remove the traces of their failed relationships from their skin were plentiful, after all. But back then, I couldn’t have imagined feeling as deeply for someone as I did for her now.

I turned around, opened the clasp and let the robe slip to the floor. It had taken six full, painful afternoons, but I thought it was perfect.

Jazz sucked in the air.

Finding an artist who could do such a life-like drawing from photos and transfer it to my skin hadn’t been easy. I grinned proudly. It showed Jazz in all her perfect imperfection, nipples bared, hands buried in my hair, holding my face close to her chest, staring down with dark hunger and lust. My face showed the adoration and need I felt for her, showed my struggle to reach one of those adored nipples with my tongue. And further down, our legs were linked, and a wide golden jet erupted between her thighs and splashed against my grotesquely swollen pearl, splattering my lower body and thighs.

Soft fingertips touched my back and traced the markings. “Oh my goddess! I love it,” she breathed. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Her hands slid to my shoulders, and she gently turned me around. “I could look at this all night,” she whispered and pulled on my lip with her teeth. “But this has made me so horny, and I want to do something really, really nasty. Can I have one more gift, Peeper?” She looked me hard in the eyes, and I understood.

“Always, Miss Jazz,” I said and followed her gentle pressure down to my knees.

I tilted my head back and opened my mouth.

“Oh fuck,” I heard Romy whisper, which was followed by a sharp smack.

Miss Jazz reached between her thighs from behind and pulled the front of her rubber shorts down without breaking eye contact. She was trembling when she stepped over me and pressed her pussy over my waiting mouth, adjusting her position until she felt the tight seal of my lips.

We had only ever played this kind of games at home, though she often liked to embarrass me in public by talking about it. But now there would be witnesses, witnesses that knew me well and whom I met every week.

I felt that shiver in her body and knew it was happening. I think the others held their breath, because the only sounds were the crackling of the fire, the hissing of Miss Jazz’s pee and my desperate gulps.

“I love you so much, you nasty, dirty sub,” Miss Jazz moaned, and she started rubbing her pussy all over my face, still peeing, showering me with her pee, rubbing her slit over my nose, using me as the most lewd masturbation device imaginable. The embarrassment was unfathomable, and I sobbed, and creamed, I reached down and played with my pee-soaked, freaky clit. I found Jazz’s clit in front of my lips and latched onto it, sucking hard so we came together in the crescendo of this mad spectacle.

“Wow,” Mistress Donna said, minutes later, looking at the others. They were still standing around us, watching us snuggle on the dewy grass in post orgasmic bliss. “I don’t know about you ladies, but I need something alcoholic now, and it needs to be strong.” She looked down at the two of us, and I grinned back up and giggled. “The two of you better take a dip in the pool before you come inside. There are towels on the recliner.”

~~*

We had done that, splashed around in the pool for a bit, then washed off the chloride in the outdoor shower. Now we were in Mistress Donna’s bathroom drying our hair and fixing our makeup.

“I almost forgot,” Miss Jazz suddenly said while I was working the knots out of a particularly stubborn strand of hair. “I got you something too.”

I watched her dig through her purse until she found what she had been looking for. She hid it in her hands.

“Don’t you think that Peeper is a bit of a mouthful?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

I tried to stay serious, but a giggle escaped my lips. I quickly shot her an apologetic look. “If you say so, Miss Jazz,” I said demurely.

“Pee would be so much easier to pronounce, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss,” I said.

She grinned brightly and held up her gift, three oval badges that were connected with little hoops. There was no doubt where they were meant to go.

The topmost one read “Pee” in flowery letters.

The one below said, “Sucks Nipples. Drinks Pee.”

The bottom one, of course, declared proudly, “Property of Miss Jazz.” And underneath that, in smaller letters, stood, “If found keep hydrated.”

I gulped and blushed and giggled. “This is so embarrassing, Miss Jazz,” I said with a pout and leaned closer so she could exchange the badges.

~~*

Not everything was daisies and sunshine all the time, of course. We had disagreements. We stepped on each other’s toes. We brought home bad emotions from work and had to work a lot on our communication. But we did, and got through it together.

Then, a little over five years after we got together, in the middle of recession, the shit hit the fan. I was working for a marketing agency at the time that, unfortunately, had mostly conservative politicians as their main clients. The agency, in turn, had become the biggest customer for Jazz’ computer business.

All it took was a little slip - a careless step and a slippery spot in the puddle next to the water dispenser. My legs were whipped out under me, and I hit my head on the way down, losing consciousness.

When I came to again, I was being loaded into an ambulance, and I was only wearing my bra at the top. A startled touch with my fingers, and I realized that somebody had removed the collar I always hid by wearing high collared blouses. Someone, and from the short looks at the horrified faces not just the paramedics, had probably seen the tags and likely also my tattoo. The door was shut, and I was wheeled away to the hospital, but I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

I had only a slight concussion and was kept there for two nights, then I was released with the promise I’d take things easy for the next two weeks.

The sinking feeling turned out spot on. When I went back to work, my belongings were already waiting for me, and next to the box stood an ashen faced Jazz, who just had her contract cancelled.

“You’ll certainly understand that our clientele would not understand you’re ... proclivities.” Amos, who I’d been working with for the last four years, scrunched his nose, letting me know what he thought. “The uppers don’t think you’ll want this aired in a court room,” he said, meaning there would be no severance package.

“I understand,” I said. “I understand that this is something tiny, stupid, narrow minds can’t understand,” I told him, struggling not to lash out at him physically. “I’m-”

“Going to take your stuff and leave,” Jazz said, gripping my hand.

I took a shaking breath, grabbed my box and spun around so he wouldn’t see the tears. I managed to make it to the car before I broke down completely.

“Fuck!” I cried, throwing the box into the trunk of Jazz’ car, then flinching when I heard the pretty vase I had bought on a trip to China shatter.

Jazz touched my shoulder. “We’ll get through this,” she promised, but she sounded hollow.

Her business took a nosedive. Word spread around, got embellished and twisted, and two weeks later, she had lost all her customers.

We tried hard. We waited tables to make ends meet, drew up business plans and were rebuffed by the banks faster than we could blink.

When Jazz asked me out to an Italian restaurant – she’d pay – I knew it was going to be bad. The hugs and kisses had gone missing somewhere along the way. I loved her deeply, but no matter how hard we tried, it felt like two strangers trying to talk in languages the other couldn’t understand.

“I’m going to move to the west coast and try again there,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “I can always find a job there.”

“You’re not asking me to come along,” I observed, struggling against my tears.

“It kills me,” she said, her voice strangled. “But I feel we ... us...”

“I know.” The ‘us’ had somehow gotten lost along the way. “When are you leaving?”

“A week from now. The rent’s paid for another full month.”

“Thank you, Jazz.” I gripped her hand squeezed gently. “You must not feel guilty.”

“Oh, shut up!” she snapped. “I’ll feel as guilty as I want to. The badges, the tattoo – those were my fantasies.”

“And ultimately my decision to wear them, you stubborn idiot of a domme.”

Her head jerked up. “Impertinent sub! I should – I swear – if this wasn’t...” Her eyes teared up again.

“One last time?” I asked quietly, hopefully. “A goodbye? Hard and gritty, tear-filled and nasty?”

She bit her trembling lip, and then she let out a sobbing laugh. “One last time,” she agreed, and put a twenty on the table for our two drinks.

~~*

I had struggled. I was full time working as a waitress now, in a restaurant through the day and a cafe in the evenings. My co-workers liked me because I left the best paying slots on the weekend to them so I could go to the club. I had tried to keep away from the club, but I couldn’t. Even though I was by no means ready for something new, I needed the company and the inspiration.

Over time, the couples I had thought would be together forever split up and often reassembled in different constellations. The group, surprisingly, stayed mostly intact.

I had a few sexual trysts with Romy when she was on the rebound, and it was fun, but it was just sex. We were friends with benefits. I tried subbing for Mistress Donna once at her home, but she was all stiff and formal and far too worried about hurting me. Halfway through the evening, we called it off, brought out chips and wine and went on a Desperate Housewives binge. We still had an enjoyable time.

But I was getting restless.

And then I spotted her. Young. Aloof. All dolled up in a corset, a coiled whip on her waist, stalking around, homing in on every female sub she could spot but ending up alone just as fast each time.

I talked to Lyra and learned that she was, like I had guessed, a complete newbie, and that she had managed to alienate every sub in the club within two nights. Even management had already received complaints about her crude behaviour, and her exclusion was on the table.

With nothing else to do, I decided to interfere.

Something about her eyes reminded me of Jazz.

In honour of Jazz, I took out the rubber dress she had gifted me with for our fourth anniversary. The white, thigh-high rubber stockings were hell to get into. The set came with red rubber panties, a white rubber miniskirt, a rubber bra that matched the panties’ colour and a short cropped white top with a front zipper. After a bit of rummaging, I also found a pair of glossy, red high heels that were a close match. For a moment I pondered putting on matching red lipstick, but that would be too perfect in looks. I picked up the pink one instead and went for green with the eye shade.

~~*

It was already getting late, and she had been without success once more. I slipped into her booth without asking.

“Hey!” she protested.

“I’m Sarah-Marie,” I greeted her. “But you can also call me Sam or Peeper or Pee, whatever you prefer. You’re Leilani, right?”

“Mistress Leilani,” she snapped.

“Are you sure?” I could see the lack of respect was really getting to her.

“Why don’t you go away, little sub? I didn’t invite you here. This is my table!”

“Do you enjoy being alone every night, Leilani?”

She froze. I could see the struggle in her expression. “You little shit!” she hissed.

“That’s the first time I’m being called that,” I said evenly, grabbed her glass and took a sip.

“Hey!”

“You have beautiful eyes. You have a great body and a lovely voice. But I doubt anybody is really going to notice because they’re all trying to get away from this crude imitation of a domme as fast as they can.”

“You,” she growled. “I’ll -”

“You’ll listen,” I said, putting my hand on top of her wrist and feeling her stiffen. I tapped her temple with a finger. “This is where the fun happens. The mind. Think, Leilani. You’re rushing into this with the sensitivity of a bull in a China store. We subs here are horny little things, yes, but we know how vulnerable that makes us. We may crave a good walloping and dream of submitting utterly to a woman as beautiful as you are, but before we prostrate ourselves before you, trust needs to be built. Understanding needs to happen. A dominant that goes over the top can really, really damage a sub. There must be limits laid out. Expectations shared. Safe words exchanged.”

I shifted closer, moved my hand from her wrist and laid it atop her fingers. “This sounds tedious when you’re impatient to finally indulge in these cravings you’ve hidden for so long, I know. All of us know. But it doesn’t have to be. It’s a wonderful game called seduction. Tease with your mind, with your words. Don’t grab. Dangle the carrot, reel in the line, let the subs bite and crawl after you. Talk less, listen more. Let them set up the trap for themselves; they’re bound to do that. Then catch them in their own trap, and enjoy watching them wriggle and squirm until they’ve expended their nervous energy and finally succumb to your charms, hopeful and ashamed and vulnerable.”

I was getting to her. Her eyes seemed transfixed, and she was breathing hard. I wrapped my fingers around hers and squeezed gently. “My last dominant was a woman I met here, and we were together for over five years. When she seduced me, I was certain I was a hundred percent straight. And she wasn’t a classic beauty. She had barely any breasts, she was too thin, and her choice of rubber clothes made that incredibly obvious. But she had patience, a dark humour, and a way with words. She got into my head and only gently prodded my insecurities and neediness until I delivered myself to her with hide and hair.”

I wiggled out of the white top and turned around. I heard her gasp.

“This is pretty lifelike. This is her and me. Can you imagine the devotion I felt when I got this for her?”

I turned back around slowly. “If she could inspire such devotion, can you begin to imagine what power you could wield with your angelic face and perfect figure?”

She stared at me for ages. “Wow,” she finally whispered, slumping against the backrest. She took a big swig from her drink, and then held out the glass to me. “I guess I was quite the asshole,” she said, looking ashamed.

I took her up on the offer and took a swig too. “It’s hard for newbie’s. There’s no newcomer’s guide to the BDSM scene. You stumble into it with wild stories from the internet and your own exaggerated fantasies running around your head. The people you meet there act strange and you have trouble understanding them. A lot of people are lucky and get introduced by friends. It’s easier for them. Did you graduate from college recently?”

It turned out Leilani was still in college and about to enter her last year. She’d been secretly reading BDSM stories for a while, but it was during spring break that she learned about the club. She was studying history, with a focus on early human societies. Her goal was to join an expedition team that went to the Amazon area or former Samaria.

I shared a few bits about myself as well. She wanted to know about my relationship with Jazz, and while talking about her still hurt, it also felt good to remember the better parts.

The club was emptying at some point, and the music stopped.

She gripped my hand. “Will you be here next Friday?” she asked.

I bit my lip and sent her a shy smile. “Do you want me to be here?”

She gave me a long, intense look, and then she turned my hand over and traced the lines of my palm with her fingernail. “I might,” she said quietly. “I might have a little reward for you if you come. How does that sound?” She looked at my eyes again.

She was a quick learner. “Intriguing,” I said.

~~*

Lyra caught me when I was about to enter the restroom. “You’re hanging out with her?” she asked full of accusation. “I know you’re on the rebound, but really! She’s-”

“She’s in over her head. Or was. She had no clue what to do once she got here, how to act. All she had to go on were silly erotic stories.”

She eyed me warily. “She’s not your type.”

“I have a type? After having one real relationship?”

“She and Jazz are like polar opposites.”

This was getting tedious. “Listen, Lyra. I loved Jazz, and I’ll never stop loving her. But people are individuals. I’ll never find another Jazz, and even if I did someone who resembles her, it wouldn’t be exactly the same, so there’s no use crying after her or looking for her twin. But if you must know, I saw that Leilani was just as lost here as I was when I discovered the club. I more or less threw myself at every Dom I met, and I was far too excited to think about boundaries or safe words. Without Jazz, I might have given up or done something really stupid. Jazz took her time to introduce this ignorant sub to the real world. Leilani was the same, just on the other end of the scale.”

“I get it,” Lyra huffed. “You’ve had one relationship, and now you’ve eaten wisdom with the spoon.” She squeezed past me, elbowing me in the ribs.

“Lyra,” I pleaded, but she ignored me.

~~*

I slid back into the alcove.

“Where have you been?”

“I met a friend, and we had a bit of an argument.”

“Sorry about that.”

I shrugged. “Happens to the best.”

“Are you saying you’re one of the best?”

I laughed. “That depends.”

“I’d demand from my subs that they are the best at everything,” she said quietly, looking me in the eyes. “You’re a good listener, a good judge of character, and a good teacher. What else are you good at?”

That hit me totally unexpected, and nice warmth blossomed unexpectedly between my thighs. “Uh,” I stammered.

“Eloquence under pressure is apparently not among it,” she said with a soft, chiming laugh, linking her fingers, her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands.

“I guess I’m pretty flexible for my age. I do a lot of yoga and stretching.”

She nodded sagely. “Flexible. What else?” She licked her lips.

“Uhm. I’m very dedicated when I put my mind to something.”

“Dedicated. I like that. Go on.”

How had this turned around so fast? She kept staring expectantly, lifted an eyebrow. My heart started hammering. My cheeks started burning. “I – I was told I’m very good at sucking and kissing nipples.”

“Sucker lips. Well, there’s nothing like a well-rounded resume. Anything else?”

I bit my lip and shook my head. I mean, I could have listened all kinds of inconsequential, everyday stuff. But we both knew that didn’t matter.

“How about crying?” she asked quietly, fixating my eyes. “Are you good at crying for your domme?”

She watched me gulp hard. “I think I could be,” I said, feeling hot and light-hearted.

“I think I could be, Miss Lei,” she said, and then she nodded at me.

“I think I could be, Miss Lei,” I repeated.

She smiled. She licked her lips again. “Are you good at being wet, Sarah-Marie?”

I had to bite down the moan and rejoiced in the heat that suffused my cheeks. “Yes. I’m very good at being wet, Miss Lei.”

“I’m not sure I can believe you. Why don’t we check that?”

It was at this moment that I realized that I had nothing more to teach her. She kept smiling at me, waiting, self-assured in the knowledge that she held the power, revelling in the need that was so apparent in my eyes, biding her time because she know I couldn’t resist such a challenge to expose myself with the thrill of maybe misinterpreting her expectations.

Even recognizing the psychology behind it didn’t diminish the thrill. I slowly got onto my knees on the bench and wiggled my rubber panties down my thighs. Then I waited.

After what felt like ages, she sat upright and looked at my pussy. Then she reached out, touched my opening and wiped her fingers all the way up over my mound.

I whimpered a little.

She held up her hand, turned it this way and that, and then she fixed me with a hard look and clucked her tongue. “That’s a lot of slime, Sarah-Marie, a lot of slime. I can see why you wear rubber panties. You’re absolutely drenched down there. Tell me, has your domme ever put a bowl under your pussy to capture it and measure how much slime you produce?”

Oh fuck. The image was strong. Too strong. I moaned, staring at her eyes, and I saw the delight in them. My cheeks exploded in flames.

She giggled and grinned. “Let’s add one more skill to your resume. You blush prettily. But you can pull up your panties. We’ve already seen how wet you are, haven’t we?”

I reached down to tug the panties back up when she said, “I mean, if you want to pull them up, pull them up. Or you could leave them where they are, and if anybody asked, I could tell them you want it like that because you’re a little exhibitionist. And you’d have to agree, or you would have to call me a liar.” She took my hand in hers and smiled. “You wouldn’t call me a liar in front of others, would you?”

I gulped. I shivered. “No, Miss Lei,” I said.

“Now your hand is sticky with your cunt slime too, Sarah-Marie. Really, I don’t know what to do with you!” She started getting up, and I stared at her like a deer in the headlights. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go wash our hands!”

For a moment I considered pulling up my panties. But then I climbed out and waddled after her, blushing and dripping under my skirt.

~~*

“Before I say anything else, I have to apologize,” Miss Lei said. “During my first visits to the club, I behaved with the sensitivity of a bull in a China store, as my lovely pet worded it so aptly. I needed a reality check from her to realize just how badly I was acting, and I am really sorry for making so many of you uncomfortable. I was caught in a fantasy and forgot that all of you are real people. That’s no excuse, just an explanation. I hope that, over time, you’ll forgive me.”

I snuggled tighter against her and looked around. Lyra and Mistress Donna was still a bit sceptic, but the others had lost their hostile glares.

“Don’t hesitate if you want to ask me anything.”

“Why don’t you sit down before we start pestering you, honey,” Miss Clare said with a friendly smile.

“Thank you.” Leilani took the offered chair and pointed between her legs. I knelt where she had indicated, folded my arms over her legs and rested my chin on them so I could look up at her. Since I had to tilt my head back really far, it wasn’t a position I could hold indefinitely, but she liked it when all my focus was on her. And I liked it too.

She talked with the others, absentmindedly stroking my hair every now and then, and I felt pretty content. Who would have thought it would end like this?

~~*

But it didn’t end, thankfully. That would have been a short relationship. Leilani graduated college and got a job. Before she started working, she went on a month-long journey to Europe. My own perseverance at work paid off in that time, and I was promoted from waitress to daytime manager at the cafe. There were a number of trainings I had to take for that, and they were out of town. The timing was unfortunate. I had to leave the day before Leilani came back.

We texted and called, but I was on massive sex withdrawal by the time my trainings started. Three weeks later, I came back buzzing with anticipation.

It was Friday at six when I arrived at home. I quickly showered, put on the pink rubber shorts and crop top and the matching high heels, and then I headed to the club.

Ever since I told Leilani how much it got to me when Jazz made me wear pink, she kept gifting me stuff in that colour and basked in my embarrassment.

I spotted her quickly in one of the armchairs and made a beeline for her, giddy with joy, but when I was about ten feet from her, I froze. Just at that moment her head turned towards me, and she caught my shocked stare. Next to her legs on her right knelt a sub, a pretty red-haired girl her age with the body of a gymnast, and the girl’s eyes were full of adoration and riveted to Leilani’s face. It was a punch to the guts.

Miss Lei saw me stop and sent me a sharp look. Then she crooked a finger and pointed to the floor on her other side. I gulped hard. My instincts screamed to turn around and race home and my eyes threatened to mist up, but then something happened that made the situation even more surreal.

Lyra was suddenly at my side and touched my arm. “Go to her,” she said.

I started questioning at her.

“Go. You’ll want to talk to her before you jump to conclusions.” She squeezed my arm and left.

I needed to take a few deep breaths before I could trust my legs to hold me up. Then I approached them. Miss Lei’s finger once more indicated where she wanted me.

“Miss Lei?” I said while I lowered myself to my knees.

She ran a hand over my hair, and the intimate gesture threw me even more off the track.

“I don’t understand, Miss Lei,” I confessed.

“We have a little conundrum,” Leilani said. She kept stroking my hair. “Sarah-Marie, this is Lucy. We shared a flat at college, and we were a couple for two years. Lucy, this is Sarah-Marie, my sweet, wonderful sub.”

I chanced a look at the girl. Gosh, she was pretty. And she was Leilani’s long-time lover.

Her eyes were a bright green and looked me up and down with intrigue. There was something in them I couldn’t place.

“Here’s the conundrum. Lucy and I broke up amicably before the two of us met, Sarah-Marie. But we met again here two weeks ago, and it turned out that we both had ended things because we had certain desires we didn’t dare to share with each other. And we’re both still very attracted to each other. Lucy is a bit of a switch, but still a lot more domme than sub. She would even be willing to try subbing to me, isn’t that sweet? But I don’t want to lose you, Sarah-Marie, and I want Lucy back also. You see my conundrum.”

Strange emotions raced through my chest. I didn’t want to lose Leilani either. She was fun, intelligent, warm, beautiful, challenging and sometimes so perfectly cruel.

I watched her look lovingly at Lucy, and then she winked at her, and the puzzle pieces fell together. I stared hard into Leilani’s eyes, looking for a hint of glee or malice, but I found none. She had arranged this conundrum, but she wasn’t trying to pressure me. Just as I had told her months ago, she had gotten in my head, nudged me and now waited for the inevitable. And she knew that I knew, but I needed to let the game play out.

“Maybe...” I whispered and cleared my throat. “Maybe I could be the sub for both of you?”

“I don’t know. Could you? Do you want to?”

“I want to, Miss Lei.” It was getting hard to breathe.

“Not so fast. You should ask Miss Lucy first.”

I shifted my gaze and saw her smile at me, her pretty eyes dancing with amusement.

“Miss Lucy? Would you please be my domme together with Miss Lei?”

She took her time, let me stew. “I don’t know,” she said. Gosh, her voice was like soft chimes. “Two mistresses will be twice as demanding as one, twice as intense, twice as hard. I mean, it wouldn’t be fair to Leilani or me to hold back on our desires just because of you. Do you really want that?”

I clenched my thighs together. “Yes, Miss Lucy. I want that very much.”

She slowly stood up and slid onto Miss Lei’s lap. She kicked off her shoes and flexed her toes. “Leilani said you’re good with nipples. Are you also good with toes?”

My breath whistled a little. She looked me deep into the eyes, and she ever so slowly moved her dainty foot towards my face, only stopping when her big toe touched my lips.

“She’s going to do it,” I heard Lei say, “I told you that. She’ll worship your pretty toes and feet whenever you want, wherever you want, even though it’s so nasty and shameful and perverted. She can’t help herself. She’s such a dedicated sub.”

I whimpered, and my lips parted. Her toe slipped into my mouth and found my wet tongue. I licked. I sucked. I blushed. I creamed.

“I knew she’d be flexible enough,” Lei commented, making Lucy giggle. “Tonight, you’ll get to see all but one of her many talents. Tomorrow, I’ll show you how prettily she cries.”

I slipped a hand inside my shorts and moaned around Lucy’s toes, making her giggle.

~~*

Three months. Three months that was a total whirlwind. And now we were here, all three of us about to start living together in a small condo with a pool. Lucy’s parents invested in real estate and were going to offer the three of us a deal. Lucy’s mother Angela insisted to meet the three of us, and we agreed to meet at Lucy’s flat, hammering home the rule that we had to act like friends.

She bought it for zero seconds. She came into the flat, looked at Lucy, and then at Lei, then at me, then she sat down and asked me bluntly, “Are you the sub in the relationship?”

I sputtered, and stammered, and then, wilting under her stare, I meekly admitted that I was.

And she said, “That’s good. Three dominants together like this would end in disaster.”

Lucy’s expression went from horrified to puzzled to panicked to elated in that short time. When her mother showed her pictures of the condo and told her we could get it for half the nominal rent, she jumped up, kissed Lei and then she pulled me to her by my lapel and gave me a hungry kiss as well.

Her mother laughed, shook her head and spread out the paperwork.

We filled in our details, signed the contract, and the four of us headed out for dinner to celebrate. We had a great time.

When we were all sated and a little tipsy from the inevitable champagne, we walked back to Lei’s place. Lei and Lucy bounced ahead, and Angela took my hand. “If you ever need somebody talk, give me a call and I’ll be there.” She leaned close. “From sub to sub. And by the way: if you don’t want people to know you’re a naughty subbie, you should take off your collar a little earlier.” She touched my neck and winked. “I can still see the lines.”

I blushed madly, but I pulled her into my arms and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Angela.”

It felt natural when she slipped her hand into mine. “I’m bursting to ask what kinky games the three of you play, but since it involves my daughter, it would be far too much information.”

I squeezed her hand. “Maybe you’ll want to hear the story how straight; clueless me met my former Mistress while looking for a Master and got seduced to the other side instead?”

“That sounds like a story I’d love to hear,” she said.