Put Me In a Skirt and Hurt Me: The Strictly Lesbian Adventures of Mistress Sophia (18 page)

Betty lay back, spent, and Veronica leaned in and kissed her deeply. She turned and grabbed Porsche around the waist, lifted her onto the other end of the couch, and pushed her back. She spread Porsche’s legs, and began licking and sucking her pussy, sucking the lips hard. Porsche didn’t like it, and tried to stop it, but Veronica pushed her hands away and continued to suck and bite and then Porsche felt the wave approaching, felt a wall of tension, felt herself being lifted up, her hips raising up, up, up, Veronica lifting her ass up for her at the same time.

“Yes, bite me. Oh, yes. Oh, fucking bite and suck. Yeah. Veronica, suck the shit out of me, baby! Fucking succccckkkkkkk.”

When the tsunami hit Porsche between the eyes, all thought left her. She tumbled through a white abyss, forgetting even to breathe.

Betty nudged Veronica forward onto Porsche’s belly and began to fuck her girlfriend’s ass with gusto, her finger sliding in and out of her tight little asshole, Veronica’s ass pumping back and forth. Porsche reached down and began pulling Veronica’s nipples, mashing them back against her breasts, squeezing, pulling, rubbing, twisting those beautiful pink tips, flicking her thumb against them as Veronica moaned and murmured both their names. Veronica’s body heaved and pushed until the waves spilled over her and, left her shaking and jerking, lying against Porsche’s body.

Porsche woke up at 3
A.M.
with Veronica still passed out on top of her. She had to pee. She tried to gently push the woman off, but Veronica was dead weight. Porsche finally had to shove her off and drop down to the floor to get out from under her. She tiptoed down the hallway looking for a bathroom. After she’d peed and returned to the living room, she found Betty sitting up on the floor against the couch, her eyelids fluttering prettily. She wiped her mouth, hauled herself up, and gasped, “Water!”

She and Porsche giggled. Putting their arms around each other, they went into the kitchen. They both drank two glasses of water and poured one for Veronica and took it to her. Veronica woke and drank and the three women sat grinning at each other.

“How fun was that?” Betty exclaimed.

“That. That was really, really fun,” Porsche said.

“Alice, do you live around here? Can we see you again?”

“Sure. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Porsche showered and borrowed some jeans and a T-shirt from Betty.

“I can’t believe you had your wallet stolen last night, Al. Can I call you “Al” or do you prefer Alice?”

“No, lots of people call me Al, it’s fine.” Porsche paused for effect, and then began to cry.

“Al! What’s wrong? Oh, no, are you feeling bad about last night?” Betty’s brow knit.

Porsche shook her head, but continued to cry.

“Alice, what is it? You can tell us,” Veronica said.

“Oh, it’s just been a hard week, well, a hard month really. I ... my mom got breast cancer and my workplace—I’m a paralegal at a law firm—wouldn’t give me time off to spend with her! I mean, once I used up my vacation, they just wanted me to put in my usual sixty to seventy hours a week and fuck my mom. Well, I couldn’t do that, could I?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Fucking lawyers!”

“I know! Right? So I quit! What else could I do? And I stayed at the hospital until she went to hospice, and then I was home with her until ... until ... the end.” Porsche pushed the tears out, willing them to cascade down her cheeks.

“Oh, baby!”

“You did what you had to do, Al. I’m so sorry about your mother.”

“Group hug!”

Both women stood and took Porsche into their arms.

“I have no money. I was living off my savings, and my Mother’s estate is all fucked up, and then, of course, the stock market has been so fucked up, all my investments tanked. I had to foreclose on my co-op and rent a shitty little apartment. I don’t care!”

Porsche weighed her options and decided wailing would be good. “I HAD TO DO IT FOR MY MOM!!!”

“Oh, honey, don’t you worry. We’re here now.”

“We can help you out until you get on your feet again. I have a trust fund, and Betty’s daddy owns a quarter of Brooklyn! Don’t you worry, Alice. We’re here for you.”

Both women squeezed Porsche tightly against them.

Porsche opened the door to her apartment and walked in. She flipped on the light but nothing happened.

They turned off my fucking power? I only missed three payments! What the…

She went into her bedroom and stripped off the borrowed jeans and T. She lay on her bed with her hands behind her head and tried to figure out how quickly she could move in with Betty and Veronica.

28

S
OPHIA STOOD OUTSIDE HAPPY BETTY’S
with her phone in her hand, watching the time. As the display switched from 5:29 to 5:30, she pulled open the door and walked in. She was in her black Newman dress by The Row, a clever combination of lambskin and stretch cotton, somewhat reminiscent of a scuba diving suit—the perfect cocktail dress for a dominatrix. This she’d paired with her Pierre Hardy sandals, the glitter covered circles and cutouts just right on her newly pedicured feet. Her Doctor bag, also by The Row, was the perfect authoritarian accessory too. No bra and—get this, Mrs. Pea!—no panties. She was taking a risk, but she felt ready. She was making herself wet with the thought of telling Mrs. Pea she had no panties to drop into her big old bag. What would happen?

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. She scanned the tables. No Mrs. Pea. She took a seat at the bar and ordered a vodka martini with an olive from Chance.

She sipped and felt the ice-cold vodka slide down her throat and warm her stomach.

Just relax. You practically own this bar. You didn’t get your reputation for nothing. You are a force to be reckoned with. Enjoy it. You’ve been waiting for this night for a long long time
.

“You want another one, Mistress Sophia?” Was it her imagination or was Chance smirking?

“Yes, I would.”

She sipped the second martini. Her legs were crossed and she bounced her foot back and forth a bit. She thought about hanging Willow from a hook in her ceiling next time they had a session, maybe using a ball gag and a butt plug.

“Hello, dear.”

The voice marauded her from behind, crashing into her thoughts. She wasn’t ready.

“Oh!”

“Did I startle you, dear?”

“Yes, a bit. How are you, Mrs. Pea?”

“Why, dear, I’m fine. Just the other night I had one of your subs. She’s named after a car ... Mercedes or ... well, it certainly wasn’t Gremlin ... ”

“Porsche?”

“Yes! That was it, Porsche. I had that girl licking my feet the other night. Poor thing. Seems the girl will do anything for money. Pity. No standards.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“That would be lovely.” Mrs. Pea turned to Chance. “Bourbon on the rocks.”

The two women sat sipping their drinks in silence. When her drink was half gone, Mrs. Pea rose and said, “I’m going to the ladies room. Do come with me, won’t you? I promise I won’t ask you to lick my feet.”

Mrs. Pea walked through the bar to the hallway where the ladies room was located. Sophia followed, three paces behind.

The women entered the restroom and Mrs. Pea turned and studied Sophia.

“You call yourself Mistress, but aren’t you really just a juicy little sub longing for someone to teach you a lesson? I want you to take off your panties now and put them in my bag.”

Sophia reached down, took the hem of her dress in her hands, and began to lift it up. She slid it slowly over her thighs, then up higher, her bald pussy lips emerging from the tip of the cloth, then higher still, up over her flat belly, her belly button.

A woman entered the restroom, gasped at the sight of a woman with a black dress pulled up to her waist, her firm ass on display, her legs slightly opened, standing in front of an elegant elderly woman who stood with her purse open, both hands on the bag. She stifled a little squeal and ran from the restroom. This was too weird for a schoolteacher from Minnesota.

Sophia had not moved a muscle when the woman entered. She stood there, her glistening pussy presented to Mrs. Pea. She’d watched as Mrs. Pea’s eyes had widened, the only indication that she was disturbed by the interruption.

Sophia let go of the dress. It remained rumpled up around her waist. She opened her own bag and removed a short whip. In one fluid motion she stepped over to Mrs. Pea, turned her around, and roughly pushed up her skirt.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” roared Mrs. Pea.

“Disciplining you. What else? It’s what I do.”

Sophia held Mrs. Pea to the wall with her shoulder as she pushed the woman’s skirt up higher. She pulled Mrs. Pea’s panties down, ripping them a little, and then, with a yank, ripping them right off the poor, startled woman.

“You can’t do this to ME!”

“Quiet! I don’t give you permission to speak,” Sophia growled.

“This is an outrage!”

Sophia brought the whip down against the amazingly perky ass of Mrs. Pea. Once, twice, three times. Not gently. Not warm-up strokes, but strong, solid blows, the ass turning red and small welts appearing.

Sophia turned and grabbed her bag, shoving the whip in and snapping it shut. She walked out of the restroom, then quickly brought her dress back down as she strode down the hall and into the main part of the bar. She sat down and polished off her martini. She threw $50 on the bar and blew Chance a kiss. Then she walked out, hailed a taxi, and went home.

When Sophia left the ladies room at Happy Betty’s, Mrs. Pea had stood watching her leave in stunned silence. Finally, she’d stood and pushed her skirt down. She’d picked up her ripped black panties and thrown them in the garbage can.

I’m surprised she didn’t recognize those ... she gave them to me ...

Now, in the privacy of her own bathroom, Mrs. Pea removed the gray wig and wig cap and scratched her head. She popped out the gray contact lenses, looked at herself in the mirror, and winked. Finally, she sponged off the theater-quality makeup that had added the necessary years for her to become Mrs. Pea. She stepped out of the conservative Chanel suit, hung it in the guest bedroom, and placed the Cydwoq shoes there too. The wig went on its stand on the shelf and so did the big bag. She grabbed a vintage silk kimono and knotted it firmly around her slim waist.

She danced her way into the kitchen and poured herself another shot of bourbon. She slugged it back, then went to her bedroom and surveyed her ass in the mirrored closet doors.

Like three swats are going to faze me…
she chuckled.

Sophia could barely get in the door before wrestling her shoes off and running down the hall to her bedroom. She threw herself on her bed and yanked the dress up once again. She shoved her fingers into herself with one hand and with the other rubbed her clit, and within seconds, she was engulfed in orgasmic bliss, her body coming up off the bed, her back arching, her breathing stopped. She fell back, nearly passed out, then started giggling uncontrollably.