Divine Solace: 8 (33 page)

“Yes Mistress.” But she wasn’t docile, either. She inched
forward on the towel, gazing at those beautiful breasts, so close they had
saliva was pooling in her mouth. “Can you come, just from having your nipples
sucked?”

Lyda lifted an indifferent brow, but Gen was starting to
learn, and enjoy, this game. “Perhaps. Do you want the privilege of giving your
Mistress an orgasm, Gen?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Ma’am. I like that.” Lyda braced her arms behind her on the
bench, then shifted one foot, giving Gen a light thump against the side of her
buttock with her thick-soled shoes. “Suck on my breasts, Gen. Let me see how
much pleasure a woman’s mouth can give me. You have some stiff competition.
Noah is very good at this.”

“He has the tongue stud,” Gen muttered. Lyda chuckled
grimly.

“With or without, the man’s mouth is blessed by the gods.
Now shut up and get to it, before I take a wet towel to that pretty ass.”

As Gen moved forward, Lyda slid her hand under her hair,
curving around Gen’s nape. Gen parted her lips over one ripe nipple. She
couldn’t resist cupping the full curve, squeezing the firm flesh to push the
nipple deeper into her mouth. Lyda’s fingernails cut into her skin, encouraging
her to take it deeper. She slid closer, arm banding around Lyda’s back,
fingertips whispering down that sweet valley. So delicate and strong. So
beautiful. Lyda unclipped the barrette in Gen’s hair, spilling it onto her
shoulders. Her Mistress loved her hair, fingers delving into it, pulling.

When Lyda’s head tipped back on her shoulders, pushing her
breast even further into Gen’s mouth, she made a greedy sound in the back of
her throat, encouraging her. She was giving her pleasure, and it felt so, so
good. Gen slid her thumb beneath the waistband of Lyda’s shorts, stroked the
dimples just above her ass. Lyda curved a leg around Gen, resting her calf on
Gen’s backside. Both her arms twined over Gen’s shoulders, her thighs pressed
against Gen’s sides.

“My sweet, lovely girl. Mine.”

Gen shivered at the praise. She moved off that nipple,
clasped both breasts, holding them together and tonguing the channel of
cleavage before taking the other nipple in her mouth and working on making it
as tight a point as the other, glistening with the juices from her mouth. She
wanted all of it, wanted her mouth everywhere, so she took time to run her
tongue over the areola, trace the shape of the full curve. She even pressed her
face to the outer curve, inhaling the lingering aroma of Lyda’s sweat, the
female animal smell of her. She wanted to burrow her face in between her legs,
get a taste of the same. Would Lyda let her do that?

When she tried to go in that direction, her hair was pulled
sharply, and she was brought back up to Lyda’s breasts. Lyda caught her chin,
squeezed it.

“You haven’t earned eating my pussy, Gen. You promised me an
orgasm from sucking my nipples alone. Unless you’re bored…?”

“No Mistress,” she said fervently, and returned to suckling,
getting more and more aroused as Lyda’s breath rate increased, her body
arching, her hips starting to move in a coital rhythm, thighs flexing and
releasing against Gen’s hips. She was rubbing herself against Gen’s upper body,
and it drove Gen to even crazier rhythms, more insistent and wild. Suckle,
bite, draw deep, lick, rub her face between Lyda’s breasts, let her tongue and
lips go everywhere as her Mistress’s body movements became faster. Gen had both
her hands inside the shorts, was gripping Lyda’s ass, kneading the lovely
curves to help her move against her, find that orgasm she’d promised.

“Un-unh.” In one abrupt move, Lyda shifted off the bench,
taking Gen to the floor, full out beneath her. She pressed her knees on either
side of Gen’s hips, pinning her there, her upper body still above Gen’s face.
She forced Gen’s arms above her head, then kept them there with a look.

“Keep sucking my tits, Gen.”

Gravity could be a wonderful thing, because now as she
squeezed and licked, the breasts moved against her face with Lyda’s response.
Gen moaned as Lyda pushed up her skirt and Lyda slid her mound over her own, a
nice firm rub of clit against clit, even under panties and exercise shorts.

“You don’t get to come,” Lyda said, dark intent in her
voice. “Only me. I’m going to keep you hot and wet, because that’s the state I
want you to suffer, all day today.”

She wasn’t sure how she was going to obey, because as Lyda
worked against her, as goal-oriented as she’d been during her workouts, Gen’s
pussy was getting ready to go. Then Lyda’s fingers closed over her throat. She
lifted her upper body, those breasts quivering before Gen, out of range of her
mouth. Lyda’s grip tightened, restricting Gen’s air flow enough it pulled her
attention away from them.

“You feel. Feel my orgasm and deny your own.”

Cruel, as she’d said. But Gen obeyed. Lyda’s pubic bone, the
distinctive bud of her clit, rubbed against Gen’s with the friction of
flammable things. Her pussy tingled, waves rushing over it. She ached to
climax, wanted to go over so badly…

Lyda started to come, her fingers flexing on Gen’s throat,
holding her down, using Gen’s body to bring pleasure to her own. Her nipples
were in tight points, because Gen’s mouth had caused that. Gen had also caused
her climax. Gen held onto that, fought to contain her own to further please her
Mistress.

It was as Noah had said. There was a difference between when
Lyda wanted to force Gen to lose control and when she wanted to drive her to
the edge of insanity to prove her control over her.

Gen reveled in the uncontrolled surges of that strong, lithe
body, the way Lyda pressed herself hard against Gen at the end, so hard Gen
could feel Lyda’s pussy pulsing with the last vestiges of her release. Her
hands were above her head where Lyda had pushed them, fingers opening and
closing helplessly, her body open to whatever Lyda wanted from it, a tight bow
string.

Lyda slid back, yanking Gen’s legs up to her shoulders. Her
ass left the ground as Lyda gripped both buttocks and pushed her face between
Gen’s thighs. She stopped just short of putting her mouth on her pussy, but Gen
could feel her breath there, her face obscured by the bunched folds of her knit
skirt. Lyda drew in a shuddering breath, inhaling her arousal, and Gen let out
a pleading mewl. Lyda pressed her lips to her labia, suckled, a small taste, a
lick or two, just sampling. Gen bit back on a scream, her hands tight fists. A
bated, excruciating moment later, Lyda lowered her back to the floor, her hands
gripping Gen high on the thighs underneath the skirt.

“Open your eyes.”

Gen did, though she knew they had to be glazed. She was
panting. Every part of her was swollen, tight, needy. How was she going to
function at work like this?

Lyda shifted from her knees to the balls of her feet, then
rose. Staring down at Gen, her Mistress seemed to be branding every inch of her
with her eyes. Gen saw herself as Lyda must be seeing her, skirt rucked up her
thighs, her own nipples taut points against her thin bra and shirt. Lips parted,
cheeks flushed, eyes wild.

Reaching down at last, Lyda clasped Gen’s hand and pulled
her to her feet. Gen swayed, but Lyda steadied her, cupping her ass with a
proprietary hand as she held onto the side of Gen’s neck with the other.

“Breathe deep. Steady. Get it under control. It all belongs
to your Mistress, so you’re going to learn how to bottle it, uncap it when I
say. Eventually, you’ll come from a simple one-word command from my lips.”

Gen believed it. She had one hand latched in Lyda’s waistband,
thumb frenetically stroking a small couple inches of skin above it. When she
touched her navel, Gen dropped her gaze to that. It was beautiful, like all of
Lyda. A delicate indentation she’d like to tease with her tongue, a precursor
to moving down to a lower orifice. She swayed again.

“Breathe.”

It was helping. Her body was still throbbing, but she didn’t
feel like whining like a puppy for a treat. Not quite as much.

Lyda pushed her down on the bench. “Legs spread. Assume that
position you did on the chair out there, trying to distract me.”

“I was trying to please you.”

Lyda made a noncommittal sound. Turning away to her locker,
she left Gen complying with the order as she pulled out a silver gray blouse
and lacy black bra. She shimmied out of the shorts, revealing her pert bottom
in a black thong that eliminated panty lines beneath the tailored miniskirt she
donned. Dropping a pair of shiny black pumps with silver trim on the floor, she
slid her feet into them. No hose, but her legs didn’t need them. The silver
blouse’s silky folds etched out her upper body.

“A little fancy for the nursery.”

“I have a client meet this morning. He wants me to design
the landscaping for the estate he’s building. If I get it, it will be a big
account.”

“I can’t imagine you not getting whatever you want.”

Lyda closed the locker, giving her a warm look. Moving back
to the mirror and retrieving her brush, she brushed out the thick strands in a
rippling wave that completed the professional, mouthwateringly sexy look. Gen’s
vibrant memory and throbbing pussy was the only evidence that a few moments
before Lyda had been in the grips of an orgasm, her cunt pressed against Gen,
her breasts in her mouth, the nipples and creamy flesh a pure
dessert-before-meal pleasure.

Gen trembled. Holding her legs open kept the swollen flesh
from being compressed in a dangerous way, but being spread for her Mistress
like this came with a psychological stimulation stronger than an actual touch.

“So what did you think of the class? There’s always room for
one more.”

“Sorry. I gave up my childhood dream of joining the SEALs.
But if you start to offer ten-minute cookie breaks in the middle and have a
chiropractor standing by…”

Lyda’s lips twisted. “So if you had to choose between my
whip or my class?”

“The whip. Definitely.”

“Couch potato.”

“Exercise nazi.”

Lyda laughed outright at that. Gen’s heart tilted. She’d
never flirted with a woman before. “I’d like to ask you something.”

“I don’t promise answers.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“No,” Lyda answered. “Came close once. But he wasn’t strong
enough.”

“Will anyone ever be?”

“It doesn’t matter. My priorities changed.” Putting her
brush in her bag, Lyda sat it next to Gen and shifted behind her. She held
Gen’s barrette between her lips as she combed her fingers through Gen’s hair,
pulling it back into a smooth twist she clipped against Gen’s neck. “I want you
to keep your hair up in public except when I’m with you. You take it down only
for me.”

“I mostly have to keep it tied back anyway. It gets into
everything.”

It was something to say, covering the fluttery reaction the
possessive command elicited.

“Tell me about it.” Lyda brushed back a lock of her own
lustrous mane. “This mess stays pulled back for everything but client meetings.
Else I’m snagging it in vegetation all day long.”

“Not just for client meetings.” Gen remembered it curtaining
her face as Lyda leaned over her in her bedroom. Twisting her upper body, she
reached up, wanting to twine fingers in the curls tumbling over Lyda’s
silk-clad shoulder. Lyda intercepted her, clasping her wrist. “Please,” Gen
said. “I like touching it. I like touching you.”

In her past relationships, Gen hadn’t used such a direct
communication style, but maybe she was learning from Lyda. She was also
learning what aroused Lyda. Her gaze flickered, her mouth softening. She
loosened her hold, sliding down Gen’s forearm in a caress as Gen stroked the
red locks. “This is your actual color.”

“Mostly. I tone it up, turn auburn into flame for dramatic
effect.” Lyda smiled, the effect like sunlight. Gen wanted to bask in it like a
lazy cat on a porch, soak it into every part of her.

“I’m feeling too much for the both of you.”

“Because you think there’s a speed limit to these things, or
because you’re afraid you’re setting yourself up for a crash? Do you think
you’re in the car alone, Gen?”

Gen’s gaze slid up to her. Their faces were close, Lyda’s
hand on her forearm, hers in Lyda’s hair, an intimate connection. Was it
possible that Lyda had just implied what she thought she had? As for Noah…was
Lyda speaking for them both?

Lyda had made it clear she didn’t say what she didn’t mean,
but Gen wasn’t ready to press for confirmation. For now, the tingle spreading
through her vitals was enough. Gen changed the subject.

“So you don’t want me to let my hair down in front of
anyone, but you can let yours down for the whole world to see?” And covet.

“Yep,” Lyda said. “There’s a different kind of fairness in a
Dom/sub relationship.”

“Doesn’t sound fair at all.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Lyda bent down further, all
that intentness brought up close and personal. “Does it bother you, Gen, a man
getting pleasure out of looking at me?”

“I think everyone gets pleasure looking at you. But it
bothers me to think you could do this with me, and then…”

“Don’t piss me off, rabbit. It’s a customer meet. I don’t
plan on fucking him.” She touched Gen’s lip. “I save that for my pets. Both of
them.”

Her tone changed to the Mistress who could snap Gen’s spine
straight and drive a spike of arousal through her. “Look at you, breathing so
heavy. Your pussy’s just begging for it, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Gen whispered.

“Good.” Lyda straightened. “Keep it that way. It’s mine to
enjoy when I choose. Would you like to go to Gatlinburg next weekend?”

Gen blinked. She was so aroused, she wasn’t sure she could
drive herself safely to work, and Lyda was chatting up weekend plans. “Sure.”

Lyda pulled a dollar out of her purse, handed it to her.
“There’s a drink machine in the hall. Get me a Diet Coke. Hurry back, and we’ll
talk about it.”