Dyke Valiant
by
Theda Hudson
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Lilac Moon Books on Smashwords
Dyke Valiant
Copyright (c) 2012 Theda Hudson
Cover by Laura Givens
Copyright (c) 2011 Laura Givens
http://www.lauragivens-artist.com
Discover other titles by Theda Hudson at Smashwords.com
And at http://www.theahutcheson.com
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Dyke Valiant
Chapter One
My name is Cara Bas and I'm just your average Plucky Maid waiting for her knight in shining armor to pound down the hill and sweep her up and away. Well, maybe not so average.
I mean, it's not like I'm pining away or sitting doing nothing but combing my hair in a tower.
No. I'm learning everything I need to know so when the time comes I won't be found wanting. Oh no, I'll be wanted. Wanted and prized.
"You ready, my little Marquise?"
That's Frye. She's a modern day Puss in Boots. A wicked top, delicious to look at with her chaps framing the bulge in her well-worn jeans and the scuffed namesake boots planted firmly as she swings the flogger double handed. She wears the sleeves of her T-shirt rolled up to show off the well-muscled arms that ripple as she flogs me or swings the heavy, sparkly paddle.
I know this because lately I've declined the blindfold so I can watch in the mirror.
"Yes, Frye," I say. I tried to come up with some name to call her, like she calls me Little Marquise, but there just isn't anything. She's just Frye, magical Frye. I take a big breath of that magic. I don't mean her cologne or her sweat or the combination of the two. I said magic and I mean magic.
It's thick and cinnamon-colored. I've never seen her use it, but I don't think that's what kind of magic it is. It's in her, who she is. Like I said, Puss in Boots.
Just now that magic mingles with the smells of sweat, sex, Clorox, and warm fragrances in a veritable rainbow of scents. It's the perfume of pain and pleasure. I think it smells of happiness.
"Then come on over here so we can get this scene started," she says walking to a hard backed oak chair. "We haven't got all night."
I don't frown. I know better now. Frye is busy. She takes her job of getting me ready for my knight seriously, but I have to accept that I'm only one maid amongst many.
I take what I get and am glad. Very glad.
I sashay across the main dungeon floor, through little knots of people, heels clicking on the concrete floor, the strands of white Christmas lights creating little stars against the dark walls and ceiling that mix with the bigger lights on the ropes that outline the bar, the demo stage, and the doors.
The satin lining of my black leather sheath rustles and caresses my skin and I feel my hips go loose, languid as I move toward her. I'm nearly naked under it; one pale lace lavender G-string is all that stands between me and the black satin. And that will slip away as soon as Frye gets the bunny fur wrist cuffs set and clipped to the suspension bridge.
She sits down, unzips the toy bag next to the chair, and smiles at me as I stop, throwing one hip out, letting my right foot rest on the thick four inch heel of my new peek toe fuck me heels.
"Sure of yourself now, aren't you, little Marquise?"
Little Marquise. She calls me that because we are in the middle of a real life modern fairy tale. Come on, I already told you. It's Puss in Boots. And remember, my name is, Cara Bas. Carabas. Get it? I can't explain how I have the name or how I came to be in a fairy tale. I just know it's true. And before you start in on how it can't be because of this and that, I'll tell you I did the same thing over coffee with Frye a few days after my introduction to her exotic land -- the dungeon.
Oh, not the ooky kind with rats and dripping water. Maybe some people do that kind of scene, but not me. I wanted an introduction and Frye was my guide to subspace, the fabulous land she sends me to with a good flogging or a wonderful spanking.
I thought I was in love with her ever since I'd first seen her at Dark House, the dungeon club. It's easy to do. She's super sexy, exquisitely nasty, and well versed in all the wicked ways a plucky maid could want -- if she knew enough to want them.
Which I didn't, but after one scene, I was sure she was my knight.
She set me straight. "You’re a slut," she said, "in love with what I did, and you like the packaging. No, my job is to get you ready for the knight pounding down the hill toward you. I promise you'll be ready when they're close and then I'll be gone because you won't need me anymore, right?"
So now, I nonchalantly stick my index finger in my mouth, get it good and wet and trace a line down my chest and over the small swells rising out of the top of the leather bodice.
She smiles wickedly. "You've come a long way, little Cara. And they're close and getting closer. Hear them?"
I meet her eyes. I did. I've heard those hoofbeats ever since that first scene. They're with me all the time, and she's right; they're louder, turning lately to a rumbling that kicks up dust in my mind's eye. I can't see what's coming, but I know I won't have to wait long.
"I think you're nearly ready, too, so the timing is perfect."
That jabs in my heart. Frye's been working me over for almost a year now. I love her, but differently than that day over coffee. She really does belong to no woman, or rather she belongs to every woman who yearns to learn the secrets of this magical land, who desires to step onto the exotic path to subspace and the pleasures to be found there.
She smiles at me. She knows how I feel. I imagine all the other women she's had. The old dykes say she’s been around forever and I believe them. There's a sense of timeless age in her eyes, in her knowing smile.
"Here's what I suggest for tonight," she says. "You tell me what you want and if I agree, I'll tell you how I'll deliver it. How's that?"
She's making me ask for what I want, actually negotiate. This has been hard for me. I'm a slut, but I labor under a lot of social no nos.
Over the last year, she's forced me to admit what I want, to say it straight out and to cry yellow or red when I've had enough. That's hard because I want to please.
And I can't lay it all out in detail; that leaves nothing to negotiate.
"I want you to make this evening memorable," I say. "I want to make you proud. And I want to come at least twice."
She smiles, nodding. I've left lots of room for back and forth.
"You know I want to hurt you. I want see your flesh red, I want to see my marks on you."
Ooh, that means she could bite me, cane me, staple my tits with an electric staple gun.
"No blood, please, nothing that penetrates -- except my cunt -- or burns." That covers needles, staples, fire play, and brands. But she could try some breath play. That was super scary.
"No choking or ball gags either, please."
Frye shrugs. "Up for some humiliation?"
She did that a lot in the beginning, breaking down the walls, forcing me to tell her what turned me on so she could see me all laid out and what I'd do to get what I wanted.
I meet her eyes for a long moment, thinking of the dick on a stick and the little strap on vibrator. "For you, tonight, yes, I would be."
"I appreciate that, Marquise. So you want memories. Why would you want them when you have your knight?"
Staring back levelly, I say, "Because it's you. I'll never forget you and what you've done for me."
I hope she doesn't either.
"Good enough, little Cara. So, a memorable night, but no permanent marks, nothing too scary, but maybe shameful enough to make you blush when you play back the memory. Sure you don't want a souvenir?"
I almost say yes. But I've seen her play with heavy bottoms. As much as I might treasure it, I don't think I want to go there.
"No, thank you, Frye."
"Well, then, let's get to it." She gestures for my hand. I lift the right one, but evade her grasp to stroke her cheek with one finger, the red lacquered tip sliding slowly down her smooth skin and across her strong jaw.
"Perky, aren't you? I know just what to do with the perky ones."
Indeed she does.
She takes my wrist and puts the black leather cuff around it. I twist gently so the bunny fur strokes me, moaning just a little.
She shakes my wrist by the large silver clip that dangles from the cuff and smirks.
I offer the other and as she takes it, I trace "fuck" across her palm with one red nail. I know she knows the rune, because she meets my eyes when she looks up and smiles a crooked smile with one brow quirked.
"Very perky. Very," she purrs as she buckles the cuff and clips the two together.
She sits back, lifts one ankle cuff, head cocked, staring at me.
She's thrown the gauntlet down, but I'm ready for her. I've practiced this at home. I know that people watch. Some people only come to watch. I like to give a good show. I want to make a good impression so if my knight asks, people will say that I'm a graceful, kind, and wonderful sub.
I raise one leg slowly, pleased that I don't even wobble as I place the flat of my shoe between her legs, toe against the package that bulges in the crotch of those jeans, a faded circle worn where one ball perpetually settles.
She rewards me with a soft hand brushing up my calf, one finger tracing the intricate clocking that runs up the outside of my black stocking.
"Hmm. Points for beauty and grace," she says, her velvety voice rumbling in the center of my chest and falling to my clit, which rises up to receive it.
She snugs the cuff up and taps the top of my foot.
I raise it up slowly and set it down, breathing a silent sigh of relief for my other foot. The shoes are beautiful, but there is a price to pay for this kind of beauty, especially on concrete floors. Luckily, the play spaces have foot mats to save the bottom that kind of foot killing discomfort from standing so long on concrete if the top desires to take advantage of it.
I hope Frye's so thoughtful tonight.
The other foot goes up, also pressing lightly against that well-worn spot in her crotch and I'm rewarded by a slight shifting that moves against my toe.
She traces a line up my calf with her fingertip when she finishes with that leg and I realize she is answering my secret message on her palm.
I will, oh, believe me, I will, she traces up the inside of my thigh, plucking the garter's elastic.
I take that as permission to put my foot back down and shift from foot to foot, feeling the fur inside the cuffs stroke my ankles.
"Shall we then? I've reserved a private room."
I suck air in sharply as a sharp twinge pierces my chest and dives to my pussy. A private room. This is to be very special then. Very special.
She gathers up the bag and stands. I smell the magic thick between us. I breathe deeply and she touches my cheek gently. I turn and take her finger gently between my teeth for the briefest moment.
I'm not magic. Never have been. Oh, I can do the simple intention kinds of spells that any wannabe can do. But my real strength is that I can smell it. I know when someone uses it. I can find the weak chinks in any spell or ward. I can follow it like a blood hound. It's what I do for a living.
Lately, I've had a few jobs that I think Frye had something to do with. I don't know for sure, but I've caught the faintest whiff of her scent when I've gone to meet clients.
"Let's go then," she says, pulling me back to now and following as she leads the way to a broad stairway, carpeted in a faded crimson floral pattern, the balustrade worn by thousands of hands skimming it as they make their way up toward a meeting with nirvana.
I climb the stairs like a queen, head held high, back straight, cuffs jingling, hands held out as if in prayer, which they could be. My time with Frye is coming to an end, the thundering approach of my knight is louder every moment, rushing to answer my prayers, my hopes, my dreams since childhood.
At the top of the stairs, Frye pauses, looks down the hall to the left, ahead, and then nods as she glances to the right. The tall walls are papered in crimson and cream stripes, the doors, frames and baseboards gleaming white, the knobs and sconces brass and crystal. The light from the crystal chandeliers makes rainbows on my skin as I follow her down the hall.
Much love has gone into making this place; I feel the satisfaction it reeks. I love visiting here and have left my mark during those work parties, laughing and letching while we create the spaces we take our pleasure in.
Two-thirds of the way down the hall, on the left, Frye stops, puts a key in the heavy white lacquered door and turns the handle. She gestures me in when it swings open and I pause, wanting to fix everything about this moment in my mind.
The generous white painted room is covered in mirrors on the three walls in front of me. On the wall in front of me a suspension bridge sits in the center, a small scaffold to the left, a pair of straight back chairs perfect for bending over to receive the paddle stand to the right, between them a side table, near an exam table that has an assortment of pussy swelling knobs and eye bolts attached for keeping a sub still for whatever ministrations a wicked top can conjure. The center has been laid with mats, just right for rolling around on. The walls on either side of the door have shackles built into them.
Being chained to a wall in the dark makes me desperately scared, with sweats and shivers. That's when I learned to finally let go and accept the fear and the pain that was coming and that I could not only master it, but control it. I think that's when I really learned how to be a sub.
I wonder if we will wrestle tonight. That is fun. Wrestling is intimate, more about domination than the beat down.
Really, though, I just think she likes the sweaty flesh to flesh contact, the earnest striving, the groans, and inevitable victory.
I do, too. Especially the victory. She is very wicked when she wins. And she always wins.
"Take your position, Little Marquise."
She hasn't specified a location so I move near the exam table and stand, legs spread shoulder distant, hands clasped at the small of my back, which is arched to show off my meager, but proud, cleavage.
Chapter Two
Frye closes the door and walks to the straight backed chair where she sets the toy bag down, setting the food and water on the side table. When she unzips the bag, I shiver. This is it.
Frye reaches in and pulls out the blindfold. She dangles it in front of me. I'm tempted for a moment; the sheepskin lining is soft and the molded leather cups force me into myself, leaving me only one direction to go -- straight into subspace.
But I want to have this last time together impressed on every sense.
I shake my head no and she cocks her head the other way and shrugs, dropping it back into the black leather toy bag.
She pulls out a pair of black leather gloves and slaps them on the palm of her hand. It does not escape my notice that it's the same hand I scrawled "fuck" on.
She grins and goosebumps break out down my arms and back. Her smile widens as she watches. Her boots thump on the oak hardwood floor as she walks to me. She brushes the glove over my skin and I sway, halfway to subspace already.
I can smell the leather, the oil she rubs in them to keep them supple, a whiff of the musk I wear, and wonder for a moment how many toy bags she has or if the bag is magic, too, full of whatever each maid requires.
That thought flies away as she lets her fingertips trail across my back, just above the sheath. She steps in and breathes lightly on my flesh. I groan and feel pleasure race through my chest down to my clit, which swells gratefully.
Frye unzips my leather sheath, the noise loud in the room. She never uses music, saying that it pulls me away from the experience. She never gives me any out she doesn't create.
No, I have to be completely there for her, rushing where she chivvies me.
The dress whispers down my body and she bends over, tapping one calf, then the other as I step out of it. She moans as she catches sight of the lavender lace.
She steps back over to the chairs, lays the dress gently over the back of one and lifts the other, muscles rippling as she carries it over in front of me.
The chair is a heavily scrolled dark oak straight-backed chair. The seat has a round depression on the seat and six turned spindles supporting the top of the back rest, which is faces toward me.
She slips one glove on, staring at me all the while. I'm mesmerized, knowing what is coming, pleased and frightened in the same moment.
She pulls the other on and presses her fingers of one hand between the fingers of the other, seating the glove. After she repeats the ritual with the other, she commences caressing me with that super fine black kid leather.
I close my eyes, my senses suffused with the sensuality of her touch. She is everywhere: cheeks, neck, arms, breasts, nipples, belly, the front of that lavender lace, the length of the black silky hose.
I know better than to move and struggle to hold myself still so that she will be proud of my control.
She is. She stands and moves around behind me, pressing her leather clad legs to me, letting her cock press against my ass, and letting those soft fingers glide over my breasts, tweaking the nipples, hefting the small handfuls like they're gold.
Her warm breath stirs the tiny hairs at the back of my neck, warms the space above my shoulder. She nips the tender space where my shoulder meets my neck. Warmth spreads and the air is suddenly thin and sharp.
"You know what to do," she growls softly.
I do, having done it many times before. Bending over, I arch my back, presenting my ass. She runs both hands around the plump cheeks and taps lightly with all her fingers.
The taps grow in intensity as she steps to my left, the better to aim with her entire hand. Every sharp smack is a shock -- pain turning into pleasure as the crack of her glove meeting the midline of my flesh echoes in the room.
I lose count as I dance toward subspace. She's changed sides twice now. My skin is tender, full, and my pussy is swollen, sopping.
I hear the hum in my head that signals the opening door to that lovely place.
I haven't realized my eyes were closed until she steps in beside the chair back and offers me water. I drink greedily, a third of the bottle, before handing it back to her.
"Time to get you rigged. Go to your place, Marquise."
I walk to the suspension bridge and stand before it.
Frye puts the bottle on the table and comes to clip my wrists to the eyebolts. The clips are long enough to give me something to grasp when I go deep into subspace. She leaves me there, wiggling around to feel the bunny fur on my wrists and ankles and returns to the table. She pulls a dildo out of the bag. It's my favorite, clear Lucite with a slight bend to it. She sees that I'm watching and reaches in again to pull out the leather harness and I nearly come then. She slips the base of the dildo into its holder and reaches into a front pocket of the bag.
I know what she's grabbing and I try not to smile. My legs go weak and a dribble of juice runs down the inside of my thigh.
She shakes the harness a little so that the buckles jingle and I roll my head on my shoulders and flex them to keep me loose.
She whoots when she bends over. "You could start a perfumery with that musk, girl. You could call it "Anticipation".
I can smell the leather and Murphy's Oil Soap on the tack, as she calls it. She has several versions. She has one for pony play that holds a butt plug with a palomino tail. I wondered before why she had me buy the blonde wig and nearly cracked up when she pulled the rig out of the bag.
That was a fun night. She'd slipped a vibrator up my cunt and put me through "my paces" downstairs while everyone watched. Later I had these boots made that have horseshoes on the soles and really pranced the last time we played like that. I love the way the tail brushes the backs of my legs when I move and swish it around at every opportunity.
But this holds the dildo tight inside me. It gives me something to clench when she works me over with a paddle or a flogger and won't let me push it out.
And, oh, yes, there's the bonus after she's got me rigged. She seats the dildo and finishes buckling everything up.
She waits, tease that she is, knowing I know what comes next.
"We must play safe, little Cara," she says solemnly. "Safety equipment is required, don't you agree?"
"Oh, yes, Frye. Absolutely."
"Well then," she says, dropping the little vibrator out of her hand, letting it dangle by one strap. "Let's get you helmeted up."
The vibrator is really like a helmet. It's a small white cup, made to fit over my clit and attach to the sides of the harness where it crosses over the tops of my thighs and on up to the belt cinch that holds the whole thing together.
She drops a bit of lube into the cup to make a good seal and ensure complete contact.
I'm completely filled by the dildo and clench on it, feeling it nudge against me deliciously. My clit feels swollen, and she fits it carefully, snugly.
Frye smacks my ass as she stands up and I freeze, knowing what's coming now.
"We have to test it, little Marquise. Be certain you're fit properly. Do you agree?"
I tense, trying not grit my teeth. "Yes, Frye, we must be sure."
"Very well." She holds the tiny remote in her thumb and forefinger and presses it quickly, giving me a jolt that makes me want to cry and scream at once. I grind against the dildo, my pussy clenching in three/four time.
She leans down and makes a show of touching, checking the fit, adjusting it. I nearly leap away it feels so good. She breathes on me and it's warm against my warmer, wet skin.
I shudder and she laughs, reaching between my thighs, pinching sharply before I realize what she's doing.
"Shall we continue then?"
"Yes, Frye."
She stands and runs her hands over me again, tugging at the straps, reaching between my legs to push on the butt of the dildo. I flip my ass up and she slaps it again, then slides around the back side of the suspension frame and right into my space.
I stare at her, cementing the fine planes of her face into my memory. I take a big breath of her, magic, sweat, her breath, minty from the wintergreen lifesavers she sucks.
Her hands fit nicely on my hips and I wiggle a little to feel their weight. Her eyes are nearly black in the dim light.
Oooh. I realize what she's doing just as she lifts her hands and tweaks a nipple. The squeal bursts from my mouth before I can catch it.
Frye smirks and pats my breast with her leather clad hand. I sigh and stand up straight. Tracing a finger around my small breast, she watches my aureole crinkle up under the velvet smoothness of the kid leather.
I moan trying to ready myself. She smacks the left one on the outside and then the right, the leather cracking sharply against my tender skin. I don't mind the bottoms and sides, but I hate it right on the nipple.
When I get cranky from the pain, I growl, "Yellow."
Frye nods and immediately sets her mouth on the offended breast, licking and nudging the affronted flesh. I press against her mouth and she nibbles.
Tensing my arms and back, and clutching the cuff clips, I stay still. Her nibbles become like cat's claws hiding in the soft fur and smooth pads of its paws.
At first the pain shoots to my pussy and I clench the dildo, but after a while, with no cookies for my clit, I start getting cranky again.
"Yellow, Frye."
"Good, Cara, very good."
She licks the poor nipple and moves over to the other side.
I used to try to hold out, thinking it would please her, but she told me that only went so far, then any boundary I might have was out the window and I was suffering abuse, not engaging in any kind of real exchange.
"And that's where the real power is, Little Marquise," she had said. "It's all about exchanging power. Not giving it up wholesale."
"Yellow," I say again when the nibbles become bites and I can't take it anymore.
She nods and lets her fingers move down to my sides. I try to move away, but I'm cuffed securely.
Those smooth leather-clad fingers find my spots and tickle. I giggle and jerk until we are both out of breath, then she stands back and gives me a good hit with the little vibrator.
I moan and clench, hanging onto the cuff clips, the flush of pleasure taking me, making my face and shoulders and back blush hot crimson. I come and come, my pussy working over the dildo, finally pushing so hard, I can feel the harness straps straining against my thighs and waist.
It's going to be a wet one and Frye shoves the towel into the space on the floor between my feet just in time to catch the gush.
"Well," she says. "Now that the edge is off, let's have a little fun."
She pulls a flogger out of the bag. It is the moose hide, thirty falls, each one thirty inches long by a half inch wide, dyed black and attached to an ironwood handle with double handholds carved into it.
She's going to whallop me good.
I'm not going to dance along that path. I'm going to tumble run my way into subspace.
She watches me in the mirror. I meet her eyes.
"Afraid, Cara? Yes, I intend to swing double handed. From the start."
Am I ready? She's only spanked me. The skin on my ass is barely thrumming with the blood that rises up under the assaulted flesh. Moose is hard, like being hit with a two by four. She usually only uses it when I'm thoroughly warmed up. And when she swings double handed, I'm gone.
"Do you want to cry yellow, red maybe?"
My heart thuds against my chest. I trust her. If she thinks I'm ready, I'm willing to go there. But this is different than every scene we've ever done.
But this is our last time. I want to give her something to remember. But I want something to remember, too. And this isn't it.
She watches me, flogger hanging at her side, the falls brushing against her leg as she bounces it lightly, her weight on one leg, the other, the right one, bent, the scuffed toe of one signature boot pointed at me, the bulge of her strap on making a nice package, framed by her worn leather chaps.
"Yes. Yellow. I, I don't want the moose hide. Yet. Could I have the elk instead?"
"No, no elk tonight, Marquise. But no moose hide either." She flips the flogger up easily, letting the falls caress my back. It feels good like that, smells richly of leather, the varnished wood, and, faintly, of me.
Then she lets the handle fall over the front of my shoulder so the falls trail down my back.
"Now don't let it fall," Frye says. "No matter what. Do you understand, Cara?"
"Yes, Frye." And I do. There'll be some kind of punishment if the flogger falls.
I watch in the mirror. She reaches in and pulls out a navy blue cotton cloth-wrapped package. I know what that is, had inadvertently chosen the colors.
The paddle is eighteen inches long, a quarter inch thick in the middle, tapering to thin edges on either side of three inch width. It's white oak, and the clear varnish has iridescent flakes mixed in. They catch the light and sparkle as she unwraps it and holds it up, running her black gloved fingers over it.
It's wicked and I love and fear it in equal measures.
It requires absolute stillness so that each blow lands on the flat of the paddle. Any flinching or jerking drives it edge on into my flesh, making ugly and painful lines. Hence her admonishment to not let the flogger fall. But she is wicked. My attention will be divided, making it harder to stay still, creating opportunities for the paddle to land awry.
Frye brings water and I drink most of a bottle. She sets it down on the floor near the left upright and begins to slide the paddle over my skin.
The varnish is smooth and the wood still cool. I love this and melt a little. She taps the bottom of my breasts, more hefting than smacking and I smile and sigh breathily.
Just as I relax, she pivots and smacks me on the ass with a loud crack.
I jump and the flogger handle bobs up and down, reminding me of my duty. I have no idea what will happen if I fail, and am torn between finding out and succeeding.
Before I can settle myself, she is at me, smacking, the paddle making rhythmic sounds.
I chuckle when I realize she is beating a tattoo. Just as I settle into it, she changes the beat and moves above the midline of my ass.
She knows how much I hate that. I love to be spanked. I love the way the pain shoots to my pussy and makes it glow and swell with pleasure.
But only below the midline. Any higher and it just hurts. I get cranky when it just hurts and there's no cookie for my pussy.
It had to be a mistake. I let it go and let myself move along the path to subspace. She leaves off my ass and moves back in front of me, spanking my breasts.
I love this too, like I said, just on the bottoms and sides. I hate having the front of my breasts spanked. I get that sometimes the top wants what she wants, and I can always cry yellow.
She is dancing around to some beat in her head, eyes focused completely on my tits. Bing on the bottom, biff biff on the sides and then bam, right on the flat of my boob. It's a deep pain with a sour tang and I hate it. It pulls me right off the path to subspace, right back here.
Bing, biff, biff, BAM.
"Yellow," I bellow.
"Sorry, Cara." She goes back to dancing and I settle down.
Bing, biff, biff. Biff, biff, bing. She breaks it up a little and I'm nearly in subspace when she goes into some kind frenzy, Bam, Bam, Bam.
The pain is not exquisite. It's bitter and I jump, not expecting it and the next two land edge on and that hurts even more. I'm prickled. No, not prickled, aggravated.
"Red," I shout. I have never shouted at her. I've never needed to. "What the fuck, Frye?"
She's placid, curious, as she stares at me, paddle loose in her hand.
"You done?"
What? Done? On this note?
Chapter Three
"You gonna keep hitting me on the boobs like that?" I ask.
She stares at me for a long moment. I'm supposed to be thinking hard when she does that. What am I supposed to be thinking? My top has gone squirrely on me. And I'm cuffed and helpless.
What kind of a message is that?
"If you won't honor my safe words or our negotiation, then, yes, I'm done."
And I mean it in this moment. We had a bargain. And I loathe deal breakers. As much as I loathe liars and people who torture helpless things.
If she forces this, I'll hate her for ruining our last night and my memory of it. Is this what she wants? Is she trying to make a clean break? Does she think I won't let go?
That's crazy. Especially after our conversation during our negotiation.
She meets my eyes then. I lift my chin and stare back.
Then she nods. "Very nice. Well done. Remember how you feel in this moment. No pleasure, no love, no loyalty is worth betrayal."
She leans in and kisses me on the mouth. She rarely does that. It means something to her, some kind promise she doesn't make lightly.
Her lips are soft and full. I taste the wintergreen on her tongue and the mint tingles on my tongue. I sigh and then moan as she wraps one arm around me and holds me still while she works my mouth.
When she breaks she strokes one finger down my cheek. I turn and take her gloved finger in my mouth, biting it lightly.
She grasps my ass and I gasp as she squeezes the tender flesh.
"I'm going to have you now," she says, her eyes never leaving mine. "I'm going to pull the dildo off and fuck you."
I groan and she unbuckles the harness. She knows it well enough that she doesn't need to look. I clench the dildo so hard I push it out and it hits the towel with a heavy thunk.
Frye moves around behind me, her right hand never leaving my body, sliding over side, across my hip and planting itself in the middle of my lower back, pushing me down.
I can hear her undoing her jeans and pulling her cock out. She pushes it into me and I think, "It's too big, I can't take it," but then I do, although I'm so swollen she has to work to fuck me.
I lift my ass to let her in deeper and she hunches over me, driving that big cock into me while she holds my shoulders and presses herself against me.
She bites me on my shoulder where my neck joins it and hangs on like a tom cat does to his queen. I hear a weird cry and realize it's me and I let it fly free as I feel the orgasm rising up.
She's pushing her cock in deliberately and my feet make little dancing movements, treading as I try to open myself up more.
She hits that spot once, twice, three times and I'm coming, hard, a wave of heat rushing over my chest, my face, my back. My legs quiver and everything tightens up.
"Take it, Marquise, take it," I hear Frye growl as she strives to keep her dick in me while she comes and my entire body squeezes like a vise.
Everything shudders for a long, long moment and then goes lax. I hang on the cuff clips, my legs too weak to hold me.
Frye's breath comes in great wheezing gasps and I think for a moment she's crying, but then she pulls out, tucks herself back in, unclips me, gathers me in her arms, and carries me to the couch, where she covers me with a blanket.
She pulls the table over to the couch and collapses beside me. I pull a bottle of water off the table, get it open and down half of it before handing it to Frye, who kills it.
I close my eyes until the smell of the fruit and cheeses forces them open. She's waving the plate under my nose. I giggle and then eat, feeding her pieces of cheese, slices of apples, handfuls of grapes, and mounds of crackers.
I watch her as we eat. I frown, knowing I will never have this intimacy again. She's done her part. The thunder rumbles in counterpoint to the beating of my heart and I know my knight is fast approaching.
Frye will go to the next plucky maid. That's her role. I know it and find that while I love her, I can let her go now.
She looks at me then and nods. "That's my little Marquise."
Did she read my mind? She might have. She is magic after all.
After the food is gone, I close my eyes again and barely feel her get up, hear her gathering up the toys, cleaning the space.
"Cara, little Marquise." I open my eyes. "I have to go. Regina says she's taking you home."
I nod, taking her hand, now bare of the gloves, soft and smooth. I wonder again if she works or whether she spends all her time caring for the maids she guides through their fairy tales.
I realize I don't want to know, not really. Knowing would ruin the magic. She's Puss in Boots and that's enough.
She lifts my chin with a crooked index finger. "Trust yourself to recognize the fairy tale when you see it," she says gravely. "Remember everything I taught you. I wish you luck and love to fill your heart."
She brushes that same finger along my cheek and turns to leave. It's only after the door snicks shut that I realize she's left the toy bag. Of course. It's mine. For my knight to use on me.
The truth stabs me in the heart and I sigh, tears rise up. The chapter is over. The plucky maid has been shown the way. It's time to move on.
"Oh, just hurry and get here," I whisper to the hoofbeats that are closer than ever before. They speed up as if in answer to my command turning to a deep throated roar.
I shake my head, thinking I must still be ringing from subspace and get up to put my dress back on.
Chapter Four
A month later I'm on a job, trying to sniff out a missing apprentice shaman. He went on a jaunt to the spiritual realm for an initiation and never returned. His body languishes, never waking from the trance he slipped into when he went on a spirit quest. The body can only live without the spirit for three days. He has about a day left.
His mentor did everything he could, then he called me in.
I follow Jason's scent, like a bayberry candle in crisp winter's night, from his mentor's studio to the portal in an alley between Blake and Wazee between Twenty-third and Twenty-fourth. I poke around the filthy alley, pushing aside trash soaked by last night's rain shower and this morning's pee shower thanks to the bums who used this as their toilet.
I can't go into that land like shamans can, but I can see by the signs that the young shaman entered the spirit realm and completed his journey there, coming out again about two days ago. I look around for a feather; as part of the initiation he has to master changing his form into a raven. I see nothing but I smell his scent where he landed on the dumpster and rested.
He hadn't changed back, and I follow him to where he had flown from the portal to Bear Creek Lake Park, west of Denver, nestled against the foothills. That's a good long flight, even for a real bird.
Magic spoor isn't like regular spoor. Wind doesn't disperse it, time doesn't tatter it. It's like a string, a ball of yarn unrolling.
I park in the lot and get out. The fall day is brilliant, bright, sunny, but with cascades of brittle leaves blowing off the trees to scurl around the ground in a rustling susurration.
I breathe deeply, not to catch the scent, but to enjoy the day. I smell it anyway. Jason's scent changes, frayed a little, scuffed and knotted around a powerful fetish.
I snort. The stench of the talisman is sour and disgusting. I hate this, recognizing, not the hand behind it, but the setup. He's been lured by another shaman and trapped. He isn't here, but the trap was sprung just off the trail there, near the little stream that gurgled its way to the lake.
I can see the signs of the brief struggle. The shaman is powerful and utterly callous; he smells like camphor and old sweat. I can smell his other spirit slaves and animals. They radiate misery and hatred and he cultivates both.
Flipping my phone out, I call my client. "Duncan? Yeah. I tracked him to Bear Creek Lake Park. Just off the north parking lot. He was lured and trapped. Whoever did it is strong, really strong. No, nobody I recognize. I'll mark it with blue tape. Yeah. I hope you can find him, too. I hope you can beat this bastard. He gives you guys a bad name. Yeah. You're welcome. Good luck."
I close the phone and returned to my little blue CRV. I rummage around in the back and come up with a roll of narrow blue plastic tape, like caution tape, but half as wide.
Walking back over to the spot where the shaman sprung the trap, I figure out where I can tie the tape and not tread on the site. Duncan will need it intact to work a seeking spell. No one's bothered it. In fact the tracks of creatures coming to the creek to drink have given it wide berth. They know more than dull humans.
The fallen log behind the site has a branch sticking up and I tie a couple of pieces to it.
Just as I finish I hear them. Hoof beats. Not in my head this time. No, the real thing. I turn and see a woman wearing a cobalt blue cowboy hat with silver dollars around the rim riding a coal black horse that's galloping down the trail straight at me.
She sees me and raises one hand, twirls it around her head and whoops like an Indian on the war path. I stare. She's tall, well built, and handles the careening horse like they are welded together.
I stand mesmerized. She wears chaps, black with electric blue whipstiching along the edges and black cowboy boots with electric blue inserts up the sides.
She hauls on the reins and the horse slides to a stop right in front of me.
My heart bangs in my chest like all get out and my brain beats out three words like Morse code -- "Is it her? Is it her? Is it her?"
I mean, really, a woman on a horse galloping toward me like a posse is on her on her trail, what kind of a coincidence is this?
"Well, hello, beautiful," she says, whipping off the hat to swing it gallantly across her waist as she bows in the saddle. Her hair. It's cropped crazy, like she did it blindfolded and drunk. And it's blue. Electric blue with black roots.
The horse blows and drops her head. She's beautiful. Not too tall, but powerfully built, a finely shaped head and lively eyes. She's so black she's nearly blue, a fine sheen of sweat making a collar at the base of her neck and a V down her chest. I can feel the heat coming off her in waves. She stamps one shiny black hoof, tosses her head again, blowing again, and I look back at the woman.
"Hello," I say.
"Indigo Van Dyke, at your service," she says.
I'm struck dumb and not just at her name, although I don't doubt for one moment it's her real name. This is a fairy tale after all. She's very handsome, pale as pale, with a narrow face, all beautiful sharp planes that could cut hearts in half. Not what I expected, but hey, I'm not going to complain.
"Cara, Cara Bas." I curtsy cutely.
She smiles. "Yes, you are dear," she says, and I realize she's caught the reference to my first name, if not the full name from Puss in Boots. Cara means dear in Spanish.
"I can see that already. Wanna go for a ride? Cobalt here has worked off her first edge and she'd like nothing better than to take a pretty woman for a ride. Neither would I."
I blush under her lecherous grin. "She's beautiful," I say to cover my discomfort. Somehow, though, I always figured that my knight would have a white horse. "May I?" I gesture toward the animal.
"Sure."
I lean in close to the horse's face and breathe out, letting her get my scent. My cousin had horses and when I was a girl we used to ride when I visited in summers. Cobalt breathed and snorted. She smells like grass and warm horse. I reach out and touched her muzzle. Velvet. Her nostrils widen and I can see they're ruby red inside. I rub her chin a little, feeling the prickly hairs on my hand.
"Well, what do you say? You know horse greetings. She says you're okay."
"Yes," I say, rejoicing in the moment I've been waiting for all my life and ready to get on with it. "Yes, sweep me up and take me away."
Indigo sits up and cocks her head as she nods. "Now that's what I like to hear. Gimme your hand." She lets one hand down.
I reach up to take it and she pulls me up behind her and I marvel at her strength, although I expected there would be some sign when we touched. Not that there was a sign when I met Frye. But I could smell the magic on her.
There was never anything to make me believe that my knight would be magic. No, it stands to reason that she isn't. It's a fairy tale and knights generally are not magic. They seek magic things in quests, or like King Arthur, they have a magic sword, but they themselves usually aren't magic.
Cobalt's back is warm from the sun and her run and I settle in behind the saddle, which is intricately worked with lapis blue swirly inserts and fancy sky blue stitching.
"Ready? Hang on." I put my hands around Indigo's waist. She smells like soap and strength and confidence, and I sigh a bit. She's warm and solid under her navy blue T-shirt, not bony, not quite. My skin feels electric like I'm full of static. Kind of like when someone works a spell around me. Like I'm a magnet for the energy. She must feel it too cuz she chuckles before nudging the horse with her heels, and we're gone up the trail. I love the feel of a horse under me. Cobalt's powerful, dancing with endless energy, and under the command of a handsome, powerful woman. I'm wet immediately and my hands tighten around Indigo's waist. She lets one hand touch mine.
She holds the horse to a canter and we ride the trail across a bridge, Cobalt's hooves clattering on the boards. She flicks her tail saucily as we come across the other side through a cloud of gnats.
"So, Cara Bas, what do you do? What brings you to the park this fine day?"
I pause. Should I tell her everything all at once? Why not? This is the knight I've been waiting for all my life. On the other hand explanations are always awkward.
Yeah, I smell magic like a blood hound and people pay me to sniff out spells and shamans and talismans.
"I was looking for someone."
She stiffens for a sec and steers Cobalt around an abandoned bag on the side of the trail. Cobalt's ears prick and she stares at it suspiciously as we pass it, her body angling and dancing sideways so she can keep it in sight.
Indigo gives her a little rein and a nudge with the offside heel and she straightens out.
"Did you find her?"
"Him. No. But I got enough information to help my client find him."
"Ah. You a bondswoman?" She signals Cobalt for a walk and turns her off the path into some trees. The air is cooler in the shade and I can smell the rot and pine trees. Cobalt's hoof beats are muffled thuds in the mulch of leaves and twigs and she dances a little.
"No, more like a consultant. I do more than find people. Do you ride in competitions?"
"She was trained for it, but I just like to ride. We do a lot of trail riding, a couple of marathons."
I picture them riding hell bent along a mountain trail, flat out across a prairie, a pack tied on where I'm sitting. Not what I figured a knight would do, but what would a knight do in this day and age? Serve as sheriff maybe in a podunk town or a mounted cop.
I can't see her doing that, though; she has a dark edge that feels like flirting with danger. It excites me, especially when I get another whiff of her competence. I love competence. It turns me on like cars turn on others.
I hear the rumbling thrum in my head and wonder for a moment why I still hear it. Then my pussy flutters and I can smell my musk. I think Indigo does too, because she settles in the saddle so my tiny breasts press against her. I sigh.
We wind around through the trees for some time until Indigo pulls to a stop in a small open area that has a fallen log along the edge.
She dismounts and holds her arms out. I lean over and she pulls me off like I'm nothing. She's a head and half taller than I am and she looks down at me. Her eyes are blue, naturally, and her irises are large in the shade. I stare up, smelling her and rise to meet her lips eagerly as she leans down to kiss me.
It's like drinking lightning straight down my throat through all the chakras on the way to my pussy where it pools, swelling my lips and waking my clit. Her lips are thin but her tongue is bold. I concentrate on keeping to my feet, which lets her have her way. One arm curls around me and holds me still. I reach up to stroke her smooth cheek, straying down to rest my hand on her neck.
She tastes of beer and ozone.
Cobalt breaks up the kiss by pulling on the reins Indigo holds, trying to put her head down to graze.
"Wow," I say, reaching up to touch my lips. They tingle and I lick them, spreading her taste over them.
"Wow is right. Let me get Cobalt situated here and I'll get back to you."
I breathe out through my mouth, my legs rubbery, my pussy throbbing. When I breathe in, I smell pine needles, rotting vegetation, and a whiff of the stream, the same one we crossed earlier. The breeze ruffles the leaves and a flight of them swirl through the air and scatter on the ground. The light is dappled with sudden sunshine as the branches sway.
This is different than what I had imagined, a knight bright and shiny in the sun. Frye told me to trust myself to recognize the fairy tale. This has all the earmarks, just not what I imagined. I decide to just go with it.
Indigo unties a longish lead rope from the saddle and clips it to Cobalt's blue mesh halter before unbuckling the bridle and sliding it off, hooking it and the reins over the saddle horn. She loops the end of the lead rope around a low branch and loosens the saddle a little.
She turns back to me. "Now, where were we?" I flow back into her arms like water and pull her head down to mine.
"Ah, not such a shy maid," she says, her breath warm on my face. "I like that. Let's see what you're made of."
She kisses me hard, holding my face between her hands. I feel like a scruffed kitten, limp and submissive.
One hand slides down my back and around to my breast. She hefts it, chuckles in my mouth and I ashamed for a moment. It's nothing like the reverence Frye always showed, like she handled Fabergé eggs.
"Oh, don't fret. Any more than a mouthful is a waste, anyway," she says, tweaking the stiff nipple.
She butts against my pussy and I reach out and grasp her hips to keep her there while I grind against her.
She pulls back to look at me, her eyes smoky with pleasure. Glancing over my shoulder, she pushes me back. I let her guide me, trusting her to keep me from falling.
"Turn around."
I turn. We're in front of the log. A branch hangs just above my head.
"Grab the branch. Don't let go."
My heart leaps at that last up and over the steady roar. "What are you going to do?"
"Just wait."
"No. I want to know."
She frowns for a moment, then nods. "Fair enough. You don't know me. I want to know you. I'm gonna peel your pants off, pull your panties down around you ankles and have a look see. When I'm done looking, I'm gonna eat you until you come, then I'm gonna shove my cock into your twat and make you come again.
"How's that? Ready for a little outdoor action or do we need some more foreplay? Cuz you sure jumped up on my horse quick enough. You must have been expecting more than a ride down the trail. You can't be that naive."
Her casual description turns me on, but the rest of it stings. I guess I never thought of who the knight would be, how she'd act, what would happen. It all got soft and misty after her arrival and the riding off into the sunset part. Indigo is a real person, with a real life.
"No," I say, "I'm not that naive. I want this. I just wanted a good idea of what "this" is." I put my hands up on the branch while I stare at her.
"Good enough then."
She's as good as her word and the fall breeze is cool under the trees when she pulls my jeans down. I feel embarrassed about standing in the open with my pants down. I also feel embarrassed about her casual enjoyment of it. I'm one down and she's one up and that turns me on.
Chapter Five
She leans in and gets a good whiff of my pussy. I shiver and not just from the cool air.
Indigo puts the heel of her hand down against my pussy and presses against my cream panties. I thrust my hips forward. My clit buzzes and my pussy swells further. Her fingers curl over the waistband of my panties. The tips are cool against the warmth of my skin.
Just as I wonder what she'll do, she pulls them down, exposing my shorn bush. I don't wax, but I do keep it trimmed closely.
"Ah," Indigo moans, and she pulls them down a little more to let her thumb slip between my lips and over my clit. I groan and thrust again, remembering what she said she was going to do.
She rubs my clit, making it stand up higher. The she lets her thumb curve down to take a dip in the juicy juice flowing out of my cunt and back up to skate around some more.
She leans in and sniffs again. "Woman musk," she says, her words puffing against my pussy, warm against warmer and I lean in, feeling the bark dig into my forearms.