I vaguely remember Chase and Marcy taking me out of the ropes. Someone picked me up and carried me up the stairs. I was put into bed, and for a few minutes I fell asleep, which seems ridiculous, but my body just sort of gave up for a while.
I awoke to a cool breeze coming in the window and the smell of flowers. I sat up slowly and winced, the pain in my thighs and my chest swelling.
“Not so fast,” said a kind voice.
Marcy stood near the bed, tending to a small folding table with a vase full of flowers and a silver tray with tea and little cakes.
Her hair was done up in sort of victory rolls. She wore a dark blue dress with button down the font. She looked stunning. Her face seemed much more serene than I’d
She poured tea.
“Milk? Sugar?” She asked.
“Both, please,” I said, my voice small and weak.
I realized I was nude under the blankets. I had a little flash of embarrassment. I sat up a little covering my breasts with the sheet. Her eyes lingered on my body, but she didn’t comment.
“If it would be okay, I’d like to tend to your thighs a bit. The bruises will hurt for a while and change colors, but it’s nothing severe. I just want to check for any broken skin and put some ice on the bruises and maybe a little Arnica.”
I took the cup of tea from her and nodded. I let her pull the blankets and sheets up a little exposing my legs and then my trembling knees and then my thighs.
It was both worse than I imagined and not nearly as bad as I feared. I could see each mark, a sort of white line edged in red, then surrounded by purple. The marks went from just under my crotch to just above my knees.
The swelling had gone down though, and though they felt tender, the pain wasn’t that bad. I sat up more and let the sheet fall away from my chest. My breasts just had a few little smatterings of purple and yellow bruises.
“It’s always interesting to see how someone bruises. I’ve learned everyone is different. It also seems to change over time. When I was younger I bruised like a peach, but now my bottom is quite resilient,” she said, taking from next to the bed a large white enameled bowl.
The bowl held ice water and a few white wash clothes. She soaked a cloth and laid it over my thighs. It was icy, but also soothing. She let the fabric sit for a while and then wiped my lap, tracing her fingers over the marks.
“No blood, no broken skin. I think the bruises will last a few weeks, but shouldn’t be too bad,” she said, continuing to soak the cloth and run the cold water over my legs.
I sighed deeply.
“Everyone was very impressed,” she said with another kind smile.
“I cried,” I said despondently.
“Yes, that was quite beautiful.”
I bit my lip, not sure if she was making fun of me.
She brought the cloth to my chest. I gasped as the cold ran down my breasts. My nipples hardened. She chuckled as she rubbed coolness across my bruised breasts.
“Think about the four of us watching you. How we’ve all gotten to know you in bits and pieces. Do you think we wanted to see you steely and grim taking a beating? We wanted to see this beautiful sweet girl break. You broke wonderfully. You let me break you. You were probably so overcome you didn’t see I was crying a little too,” Marcy said, putting the washcloth away.
I thought about that. It was, and it made me feel vulnerable, but also somehow hopeful. It also made me remember running away, not able to watch Marcy that first time I was at the mansion.
“Well, do you know what comes next?” Marcy said, putting away the bowl.
I sipped the tea, suddenly starving. I plucked a little tea cake from the plate and shook my head, no.
“The second part of my turn,” she explained.
I choked a bit on the cake.
She stood and went to the door of my little guest room and closed it, locking it. She went to the window and drew the curtains.
“Abigail, what happens in this room is between us. Just two girls, sharing tea and a little company. As far as everything goes, you passed my tests. You passed everyone’s tests. Do you understand that?”
I finished my cake and nodded slowly, though I’m not sure if I understood much of anything anymore.
“You’re going to take my virginity?” I ask timidly.
The thought confused me and made me all flustered. What did that mean?
Marcy sipper her tea.
“When I was very young, I had a friend. She made me a bit nervous, perhaps because she was more beautiful than I was and I didn’t know how to talk to her. We spent a lot of time together, and as sometimes young girls do, we became very intensely close one summer. That sort of powerful friendship where you feel like you two together are outside the rest of the world and able to talk about it and pick it apart and figure it out,” she said very thoughtfully.
The way she told the story made me so curious about what was coming next. There was also something in me that felt so happy that she was sharing something with me, that she was an actual person, not some mythical bitch.
“One night we had a sleepover, there was a thunderstorm, we huddled under blankets, she showed me a game her older brother had shown her. It was an excellent game,” she said looking down at her tea with a wry smile.
“Then, as sometimes happens, she soured to me. Perhaps because she shared too much with me and saw in my eyes that I wanted more of that game. It wasn’t just for thunderstorms for me. She didn’t want to come over anymore. I was very hurt.”
I felt a welling up in my chest for her.
“The next summer there was a boy, he was very taken with me. It made me feel very special. He was handsome enough. He walked me home every day. Every day he tried to kiss me. One day I let him. One day I let him take me to a hidden little park and do more. At the end of the summer, we found a secret little spot to play a new game.”
She looked at her empty cup.
“And then I grew cold. I didn’t want him to walk me home anymore. That’s how it worked or so I thought.”
She looked at me with weary eyes.
“What I’m saying, Abigail, is those summers changed who I was, but the single moment she put her lips between my legs, or he put his little prick inside of me didn’t flip a switch and make me something else. You’re Abigail, the sweet, the loyal, the dirty,” she said with a smile that made every sadness inside of my chest burn away and my cheeks heat.
“So the fact that I have a leather strap around my waist and that I have a cock attached to that strap that I’m going to fuck you with doesn’t mean you are going to walk out of this room being anything more or less than you were when you came in. And I would say what I did to you down in the basement will end up being far more life-changing for you than anything I could do in this bed, do you know what I mean?”
What does one say to that? I just laid there, feeling like a sickly orphan in bed, naked, covered in a scratchy blanket, so nervous I couldn’t move.
Marcy disrobed quickly but as with everything she did, with elegance.
Without her pretty dress or her expensive bra, she looked younger, softer. Her breasts were lovely, a bit smaller than mine but so pert and high. She was like a painting I remember, some Turner. Beautiful and cruel.
I thought the thing she wore, the cock, would be frightening, but It wasn’t really. The leather straps were thin, almost delicate, and tight around her waist and hips. The leather was a dark burgundy, like wine, with little brass buckles and studs.
The phallus, is that the word? Dildo? She said cock. I liked that word on her lips. Cock. As I looked at it, there seemed to be no better word. It was a hard word for a hard thing.
It was long and red. The ones I had seen in dirty magazines always seemed to try and fail to match the skin color of the wearer. In Marcy’s case, it was more something to pair with her lipstick.
Yet the way she held it said it was so much more. Then again, Marcy seemed to take a lot of consideration in the kind of lipstick she wore. She once told me she had someone in Paris who made her shade of red just for her.
It was all very confusing. My stomach was fluttering.
What Marcy did next was as surprising as everything else. With a sudden cheeky grin, she pushed me over and slipped under the covers next to me.
We both laid in the small single bed looking up at the ceiling with the blanket pulled up to our necks.
Marcy let out a long sigh.
“I’m imagining we are in college. Roommates, maybe, and I’ve wanted you for a long time, but you were always so shy,” Marcy said dreamily.
I wanted to add to her fantasy, but I didn’t know what to say. She went on.
She turned to me. She looked a little nervous, which seemed like an alien emotion on her face.
“What I’m trying to say is, I don’t particularly want this to be a kinky thing. I don’t know how to make it something else though. I thought reframing it as some silly-” and then I kissed her to stop her from talking.
It was a long slow kiss that got deeper as it went on. It was a kiss where we softly held each other’s faces, in turn. We shallowly brushed lips, we deeply French kissed in a way that made me dizzy, we necked and moaned into each other’s mouths.
And our bodies moved closer, slowly, but not awkwardly. As we kissed, I felt a new thrill, that I did it! I made a move. I kissed her.
We rolled around and laughed, pushing the sheet off of us. Then there was all her beautiful skin. I kissed her neck and her amazing collarbone and her shoulders and then, god, her breasts.
Who knew sucking on someone’s nipples was such bliss? I’d had mine pinched and bitten and even sucked, but none of those things were as glorious as Marcy’s nipple in my mouth. The softness of it and then the slow hardness. The silk of her skin. The way she reacted to my mouth.
At that moment I understood what she meant. I didn’t want to be hurt or service her or do any of the other wonderfully kinky things I had thought about for so long. I just wanted to kiss her, and I wanted her to fuck me. I wanted it so badly it felt like a pang in my heart.
As we kissed my hands roamed her body. Her ribs, her back, her perfectly incredible ass. Her muscular thighs, then, oh, it was there between her legs. Her cock. That long red cock. When I touched it, she stopped moving.
I looked up at her, unsure of what to do next. She was biting her bottom lip.
“Oh if I weren’t so damn hungry to fuck you. I’d lay here and have you suck it. I’d tease and make you beg for it, but I swear I can’t this minute. I have to have you,” she said and kneeled on the bed, pushing me down.
I thought she wasn’t going to do it right then and there, but she snaked her way down my body, and before I knew what she was doing, she buried her face between my legs.
I wanted to stop her for some reason. Though I suppose that was silly. I don’t think she was going to do anything she didn’t want to do, but I felt like saying “oh no, you don’t have to do that!”
But then I felt it. The heat of her tongue on me. The way she slipped it around, nearly touching that spot I rubbed at night, but not entirely on it. It felt better than anything I had ever felt. In a second I didn’t want to tell her to stop. In fact, I never wanted her to stop. I felt greedy for her mouth and hungry for more and oh my goodness I felt good.
It shouldn’t have been so fast. I knew my body. Of all the things in life I knew how to make myself come, but her tongue and her fingers, oh her finger was slipping into me, and her tongue was on that spot, and then the little room was echoing with moans, could that have really been me?
Then she was kissing me again, on the mouth, and I tasted that familiar salty, dirty wonderful taste of my pussy.
And then I felt it between my legs. Her cock. Hard and smooth. My legs opened wider. My knees were still trembling. She kept kissing me as I felt her reach down, rubbing the head of her cock on my sensitive clit, then, oh, then slipping it into me.
It was some combination of pleasure and service that I didn’t fully understand until that moment. It felt wonderful to get filled up, fucked, and yet the look on her face, how much she was enjoying fucking me was even better.
Then she gritted her teeth and held me down, and she really started.
I imagined sex meant just laying there, being taken, maybe being put into positions, but it wasn’t like that. I moved with her. I raised my hips and pushed back against her and kissed her neck as she thrust into me.
Later, weeks later, she would explain to me how her toy worked. How thrusting rubbed against her as well. At the moment though I was happy and confused as she drove into me and then with frantic final thrusts came.
Then we laid together. Panting and soaked and smiling blissfully.
She asked me if I wanted more. I told her I could hardly breathe. She made me drink water, and she kissed away my tears, and after feeding me a sandwich and cleaning me up, she tucked me in and told me to sleep.
And so I slept. I slept the sleep of someone who had nothing left to dream about because life had become more fantastic than anything her subconscious could summon.