Divine Solace: 8 (19 page)

“And there she is, a quiet, earnest poet when the world is
still enough for her to whisper her sweet, tender thoughts.”

The words had come without thought. Gen’s moment of
embarrassed regret for not suppressing them evaporated into wonder as Lyda
smiled down at her, silver eyes luminescent. “Women tend to experience one
another as a whole body, because it’s not just about our pussies. I love
feeling you squirm beneath me. Looking at your fingers, curling and uncurling,
wanting to touch me. Next time I’m at Tea Leaves, watching you prepare tea or
take a phone order, I’ll stare at your hands and remember this moment. When you
speak, I’ll think of how your lips are parted now, wet like your cunt.”

Her labia and clit slid against Gen’s, an indescribable
feeling of pleasure. Gen moaned again, her hips lifting. “It’s like the
metronome, only we set our own music this time. Move with me, Gen. I want you
to sing for me. Lift your chin.”

Gen did so, and another shuddering sigh broke from her lips
as Lyda kissed her neck, nipped her breasts. Then she pressed her own against
Gen’s, an intriguing weight, the drag of the nipples inspiring Gen to return
the favor. Lyda’s hips worked against her, clit rubbing clit. Then bearing
down, she slid her wet labia over Gen’s with slick purpose. Gen wanted to raise
her legs, lock them around Lyda.

“Keep them down. I like seeing you spread out all helpless
like this. Mine to do whatever I want with. You’re gorgeous.”

Tangling her fingers in Gen’s hair, she yanked, arching
Gen’s throat so she could take a harder bite out of it. Gen cried out, pure
need. Lyda slid an arm beneath her shoulder blades, pulled her off the pillow
enough she could keep her cunt rubbing against Gen’s as she wrapped her mouth
around a nipple. She gripped the curve, squeezing so she could suckle it more
deeply. Gen’s back bowed into an impossible crescent to help Lyda do as she
wished. “Oh God…”

“You’re so beautiful.” Lyda lifted her upper body then,
bracing her hands on either side of Gen’s ribs, caging her as she began to work
against her with greater purpose, her lips wet where she’d tasted Gen’s flesh.
Her breasts trembled with her rhythmic movement, upper body rolling in sinuous
display. Gen had a flash of how she looked from behind, the heart-shaped ass
pumping as if she was fucking Gen like a man. But she was, wasn’t she? Lyda was
drawing in every sensation through her eyes, through everywhere their bodies
touched, as much as where their genitals made contact. Gen was pushing against
her, no longer guided by anything but desire.

“Oh…God…I’m going to come…”

Lyda’s eyes caught flame, her mouth tightening. “Come for
me, Gen.”

Gen clenched her hands into fists on the pillow, not able to
leave them loose as the orgasm took her. Lyda’s head dropped back just as Gen
was coming down, and Gen felt the spasm through the Mistress’s cunt as they found
a climax together, hips bumping, breath sighing out in long moans, bed rocking
with the force of their need.

At the height of their chorus of pleasured release, Lyda
captured one of Gen’s hands, guiding it down to her side, a nonverbal direction
to have Gen grip her hips, press her fingers into Lyda’s buttocks to add to the
friction. And then, as the tide ebbed, Lyda let her stay that way a precious
moment, so Gen could explore the beauty of those pale curves. God, Lyda had a
wonderful ass. Gen slid her fingers over the taut flanks of a sensual female
animal, tracing her upper thighs. Lyda had kept one hand tangled with hers, so
Gen could also make tiny strokes of her knuckles.

Lyda kissed between Gen’s breasts, to her navel and below.
Gen sucked in a cry as her clit was suckled, her labia licked. Lyda pressed her
palm against the sheets.

“A nice puddle there. That’s my good girl.”

She’d never though it erotic. Lyda made her feel like it was
incredibly so. She shifted next to Gen, gathered her in her arms, spooning
against Gen’s back, her arm over her waist, the other tangled with her hand up
near her head. “Noah,” Lyda said in a conversational voice, “Is your cock
hard?”

“Yes Mistress.” His muffled voice was rough, sending a
little ripple through Gen. In one night, these two had tripled her normal
libido, with no signs of it decreasing.

“How hard?”

“Really fucking hard, Mistress.”

“You wish I’d let you take care of that, don’t you?”

The unspoken yes was like a primal shout, so Gen was
impressed with his actual response. “Whatever my Mistress wants is what I
wish.”

“Remember that next time you steal a kiss without
permission. Go to sleep, Noah. And if you have any wet dreams, you’ll spend
tomorrow watering stock with a dildo strapped up your ass.”

“Yes Mistress.” He sounded resigned, but still hugely
aroused. Gen was beginning to realize the threats contributed to that. At least
for Noah’s form of submission.

She wondered how she was going to deal with thinking about
this in the morning, but she was too exhausted to worry. Her mind drifted back
to what Lyda had said about the cage. For just a moment, she almost understood
why Lyda had described it the way she had. Enclosed, safe. Owned.

In such a state, she could just…sleep.

* * * * *

She hadn’t expected to sleep so deeply in an unfamiliar
place, but sexual repletion had that effect. The bed was as comfortable as a
nest, and she’d fallen asleep still grasping Lyda’s hand. Waking without that
connection was the only thing that felt off. At least in that first moment.

Lifting her head, she saw a note tented on the side table. A
water glass filled with buttonlike flowers in white and pink sat next to it.
Grab
yourself a shower in the guest bath if you’d like. Breakfast is in the oven. I’m
in the nursery whenever you feel up to saying good morning. I have your car
key.

“Bitch,” Gen muttered without rancor. Lyda had obviously
anticipated her wanting to slink away to think about all of this, discomfited
about facing those with whom she’d committed the crime, so to speak.

Lyda’s robe hung on the back of the bedroom door. Gen’s
dress was gone. While it seemed silly for her to worry about covering herself,
things were always different in the light of day. After a brief hesitation, she
slid the robe onto her shoulders, bemused by how Lyda’s scent both eased and
tightened things.

In the guest bathroom, a fluffy towel waited for her, tied
with a sprig of rosemary. Her dress had been hung on a rack, and her underwear
was folded on the counter on top of a nursery T-shirt. Her clothes, even her
underwear, had been cleaned. She glanced at the clock. It was only eight a.m.
Lyda had done all of this while she slept?

She wasn’t the type comfortable with being waited upon.
Still, she rubbed the rosemary, lifting her fingers to inhale the pungent,
pleasant aroma. When she removed the robe, she glanced at herself in the
mirror. She saw abrasions on the inside of her thighs from Noah’s jaw rasping
against her there. A slight turn showed her Lyda’s punishment had left faint
marks. She ran her fingers over them, wondering at the erotic tingle she felt.

Beyond that, she had a dozen little sensual pains to remind
her that, at every turn last night, it had been one or both of them, touching
her, holding her. Her hip joints were sore from Lyda being between her legs.

No surprise then, her cautious heart and soul feeling a
little tentative about it all. But this was likely no more than an
extraordinary one-night stand. Their world wasn’t her world. She had no
complaints, though. They’d given her a bucket-list kind of night. She’d never
known such a thing was on her bucket list, but it was on there now. Box
checked. No need to repeat.

Unless she really, really wanted it to be repeated. Which
would be problematic. When Noah had waltzed her along the dance floor to help
her relax, her heart had tilted at his romantic gesture, but she couldn’t block
how he’d gone so still behind her, watching the man be whipped. Noah slept in a
cage for Lyda. Yes, he’d submitted to Gen’s touch, to her request to masturbate
for her…but that was nowhere near the same. He needed more extreme levels she
already knew she didn’t have. And then there was Lyda. What she needed,
demanded, expected, wasn’t even in the realm of Gen’s reality.

So that was that. This was just a pleasant adventure with
two fascinating people.
Stop making so much of it.

She stepped into the shower, intending to do a fast soap and
rinse, but the high-pressure spray was as good as a massage, easing
rediscovered muscles. She washed herself thoroughly, smelling the reminder of
her climaxes as she washed between her legs. Had Lyda done that as well? And
what about Noah? She imagined him washing the jetted semen off his chest and
stomach, cupping his balls, cleaning his shaft and the corona, thumbing soap into
his slit.

When she left the shower, she realized why the nursery-logo
T-shirt had been left. Knotting it over her dress gave her a more casual look.
She noticed a pair of canvas sneakers on the floor, white ankle socks draped
over them, a replacement for her heels, which were aligned next to them.

The sneakers were clean but not brand new. It was
unsettling, to be with someone so observant she’d noticed Gen and she were the
same shoe size. She was glad Lyda hadn’t left her jeans, because she was sure she
couldn’t wear whatever size Lyda wore on her perfect ass. Gen slipped the clean
thong beneath the skirt, mind skittering over Lyda washing her saturated
underwear.

The nursery shirt was faded, comfortable and had Lyda’s
clean fragrance. Like all women, Gen had worn a male lover’s shirt, wanting his
smell surrounding her. She’d never thought of having the same urge with a
female lover, but she’d wrapped Lyda’s robe around herself for more than just
modesty. Now that she was wearing her shirt, she hoped Lyda wouldn’t want it
back. It could be her souvenir, like I-went-to-the-Grand-Canyon.

I-had-a-mind-blowing-BDSM-threesome.

Shaking her head at herself, she exited the bathroom
carrying her heels, the bra stuffed into one of them. Too bad she didn’t know
how to hotwire a car, but that would be the height of cowardice. Morning-afters
could be so awkward, though. She was reluctant to destroy the pleasurable
memories of it.

Despite her trepidation, she was all too aware she hadn’t
donned the bra, something she was full-breasted enough to normally do as a
matter of practicality. She couldn’t deny knowing that she’d see Lyda or Noah
before she got into her car had probably contributed to the decision. She was
going to avoid overthinking it. Or at least try.

The living room throw rug was gone. Lyda had probably tossed
it into the wash as well, because there would certainly be fluids upon it,
given Noah hadn’t been wearing a condom and Gen…well, Gen tended to make a
similar mess. She’d done enough internet research to know that women could
learn to have such a response, but those that did it spontaneously, regularly,
weren’t as common. She’d considered it on par with chronic adult acne. Until
last night.

That’s my good girl.
She remembered Lyda passing her
hand over the wet spot, the smoldering look that said it made Lyda hot.

If she didn’t think some mundane thoughts, this was going to
be more awkward than she already anticipated it being. She pushed that aside to
take in the details of the living room and kitchen she’d missed last night.
Plant clippings in interesting vases were scattered through the house. Lyda’s
furniture choices straddled the line between good design and comfort.
Everything spoke of a successful woman who knew her likes and dislikes and
rarely doubted herself. Gen stopped at the mantle. She saw a few colorful
prints like what was in the bathroom and a small abstract sculpture or two.
Again, no personal photographs. She hadn’t seen any in her brief glimpse of
Lyda’s home office.

She was private, a woman who didn’t give away much about
herself. The impressions given were those intended to be conveyed. Like a
portfolio.

But… Gen fingered the shirt, lifted some of the loose fabric
to smell it again. This was personal. It sent a more intimate message. Or it
could simply be what Lyda had available to loan her and Gen was being an
infatuated idiot.

Then there was the puzzle of Noah. Why had Lyda called him a
lost soul? Gen had seen sadness in the Mistress’s eyes when she said it,
overlaid by a fierce protectiveness. If Gen hadn’t been paying close attention
to Lyda’s face, she would have missed both, because the expression was gone in
a flash.

Where was Noah this morning? She missed them in different
ways, but with an equal measure of longing, such that she felt it in her
vitals. In her wildest dreams, she’d never imagined she’d be caught up in a
relationship so hard to classify or predict.

Careful, Gen. This isn’t a relationship.
Call it
infatuation or a crush, it was still so outside her milieu it wasn’t out of
line to compare it to getting starry-eyed over celebrities. Noah and Lyda might
as well be Orlando Bloom and… As she moved into the kitchen, she couldn’t come
up with a starlet comparable to Lyda.

The appetizing odors leading her to the kitchen reminded her
breakfast was in the oven. A place setting—bright-red and brown pottery plate,
shiny utensils arranged on a neat cloth napkin—waited at the table. The
spotless juice glass picked up the sunlight from the picture window. Cracking
the oven door, she found it on low heat, keeping the pancakes, eggs and sausage
warm. Though she was normally a tea and toast person, it smelled heavenly. She
transferred the food to the plate then opened the fridge to find a cup of juice
and cut fresh fruit lined up at eye level with a note next to them.
For Gen.

Last night, she’d been treated like a submissive, here to
serve a Mistress. Yet she’d also been pleasured to the point of brain overload,
and this morning, she was being cared for like an honored guest. It was a lot
to think about.