Chapter two: Miranda makes a deal
“Please, please, may I touch you?”
My quivering hand was already reaching, under the table, to her bare knee.
She slapped it. Harder than I would have thought possible.
I loved it.
“If you are going to ask for permission, you should at least wait until it is granted, don’t you think?”
My hand found her knee.
Her hand found my face, gripping it, squeezing my cheeks.
I loved it.
Her face was close to mine.
I could breathe in her breath.
“What the fuck did I say?”
It wasn’t a whisper.
Anyone close heard.
I couldn’t speak. Her touch, her closeness, her breath, it was too wonderful.
“What the fuck did I say?”
Louder this time.
The whole bar heard.
“If I ask for permission, I should wait until it is granted.”
“Yes, that’s right. Was it granted?”
She moved my head side to side, as a ‘no’ gesture.
“No, it was not.”
She let go of my face.
I missed her grip.
But she didn’t move away.
This time, her words were softer, more intimate.
“We are going to work on control, understand? I know what you are feeling. I know that all you want to do is touch me, lick me, feed on my cunt. Probably a great many other things, as well. And I welcome that. Fuck, I want that. That’s why I have you. But the flip-side is control. You have to learn to control yourself, to keep that pure, raging need bottled up. I want you to keep it locked down, and I want you to love how that feels.”
I didn’t understand, but I nodded.
She knew I didn’t.
“And part of that control is obeying. You have to do as I say, you have to be an obedient thing. Just as you must enjoy the feeling of keeping your desires from running wild, you have to enjoy the feeling of being mine, and under my rule. It’s the only way you’ll keep from going crazy, babygirl. I like you. I like you crazy. I don’t want you that crazy.”
She saw fear in my eyes.
“Your ability to control yourself is a perfect, beautiful collar. Something to keep you still. Your ability to obey me, to follow me, is the chain. A chain from your throat, to my wrist.”
“From my throat, to your wrist,” I whispered back.
“Good girl. You’ll learn. I promise to teach you. I won’t let this consume you.”
I understood. A little.
It was all going to get worse for me.
“I will teach you how to need. And how to survive it.”
“May I touch your knee?”
It was mischief.
But she put her hand on mine.
I heard the sound of stockings ripping open, even so slightly.
Her fingertip made contact with my skin.
It wasn’t enough.
It would have to be enough.
I felt the invisible collar around my neck.
I felt the drag of the chain.
From my throat, to her wrist.
Her fingertip traced tiny patterns on the patch of revealed flesh.
Her fingertip, with a hint of fingernail.
Drawing on me.
Writing on me.
My world shrunk down to that contact, that movement.
Her name, over and over.
She sipped her drink.
“I think we need some kind of test. Not a hard one, or anything. Just some way to prove you are on the first step. You do want to prove yourself to me, don’t you, Devon? To prove you are worthy of me?”
Writing over and over.
“S-s-stop teasing me.”
I regretted it the instant I said it.
She arched an eyebrow, and frowned.
“Oh? I see. OK, so maybe something a bit harder. You know, since you’ve decided to be a wilful little bitch.”
Her hand left my knee.
She squirmed in her seat.
“Please, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
She ignored me, kept squirming in her seat, then bent over for a moment.
She placed something in my hand, under the table.
“Those, right there, are my panties.”
I moaned, and gripped them tightly.
“You can feel how wet they are, can’t you?”
I couldn’t speak.
“I’m sorry, did you not hear my question?”
She grabbed my face again.
“Yes! Yes, they are very wet.”
“Yes. They are. They are always wet. And yes, they are wet for you, Devon. You are why my cunt is dripping right now.”
My cheeks burned, still squeezed in her hand.
“And I’m more than certain that you want to take them, and shove them in your mouth, don’t you?”
I hadn’t. Not until she said it. I was too lost to think even that far ahead. But yes, I did. I wanted them in my mouth so I could taste her. Taste what I did to her.
“Yes, yes I do. I want to taste you, Chloe. Please.”
She released my face.
“Please. That’s hardly a test. Also, totally inappropriate for where we are. Bad girl. What you are going to do is hold them, cup them in both hands, like you are holding a tiny, fragile, baby bird.”
“What? I don’t…”
She whispered like a sharp thing into my stomach.
Without thought, my other hand vanished under the table. I held her panties, as if they might break.
I couldn’t bring myself to lap at the saliva at the corner of my lips. All my control was on my hands.
“Now, if you wanted to, you could put them in your hungry, needy, drooling mouth. And I do like watching you drool. You could do that. And I wouldn’t stop you. I really wouldn’t.”
I had permission.
It was horrible.
“But, if you do, I’ll walk out of here. I’ll find some pretty thing, maybe even the bartender, and I will fuck her twice as hard as I fucked you. But worse, you’ll have failed me.”
I didn’t care about the fucking.
I wanted to watch the fucking.
I couldn’t live with disappointing her.
“You don’t want to let me down, do you, Devon?”
“No. I can do it. I can.”
Her lips close to my ear.
“I know you can. You can do it for me. There’s nothing you can’t do for me.”
Miranda watched, in the parking lot, hidden by shadows.
She watch the strange kiss between the two women.
The passing of that droplet of spit from one mouth, to the hungry, hot mouth of the other.
She growled as Devon collapsed to the ground.
Her best friend.
Collapsing under the weight of whatever was happening between her and the obscene Chloe.
She growled at that power, that control, that gentle force that pushed such a strong woman around like a little girl.
She growled at how badly she wanted that power, for herself.
She squeezed her thighs together, feeling the tiny droplets that left her cunt.
Her panties had been lost, somewhere, along the way.
Devon rose, and was led away, in hand, again like a helpless thing, helpless to do anything but follow.
Helpless to do anything but what she was told to do.
Anything to please Chloe.
Leaning back against her car, Miranda masturbated, furiously.
Her desire, her desire to be desired, had control over her.
Orgasm wasn’t something she wanted.
It was simply required, for her to function.
That’s how it had been since all this started.
She couldn’t think straight without getting rid of some of that energy, however briefly.
She licked her fingers clean, without thought.
She wanted to run into the bar.
Burst through the door and simply demand Chloe teach her what she wanted to know. Demand she give her what she needed to have. Whatever magic.
And it had to be magic.
Maybe not MAGIC, but something that could be granted.
No one was born with that, like that, having that.
If it could be gifted, she would accept it.
If it could be taught, she would be an eager schoolgirl.
If it could be stolen, she would take it.
The strange, powerful woman did not scare her.
Or she did, but nowhere near enough to stop her.
She counted several minutes in her head.
Over and over.
Until she had given them time.
To settle in.
To forget everything except each other.
Because she knew that was exactly what was happening.
Miranda wanted to run to the door.
But, she didn’t.
She wanted to present strength.
Chloe would understand that.
Control and composure.
She heard the staccato clicking of her heels along the parking lot pavement.
Like there was no rush.
Like this event was inevitable.
It took forever.
She giggled, hearing spaghetti western music in her head.
That felt good.
That human moment.
Because she hadn’t felt like Miranda in days.
Because she knew Miranda was incomplete without this.
She was in the bar.
Neither of the two had noticed her, they’d have to stop noticing each other, first.
The way Chloe controlled Devon with words Miranda couldn’t hear.
The way Devon allowed the woman to grip her, humiliating her in the public space.
It was so very clear that Devon had no choice in the matter.
Miranda watched, in awe.
She would be able to do this.
If only to one person.
To whom, it didn’t really matter.
There just had to be one.
Of course, more than one would always be better.
Much, much better.
She waited as long as she could.
She loved watching it all.
Watching it unfold.
Watching Chloe undo Devon, completely.
But her control finally cracked, and suddenly, Miranda’s hips were sliding into the chair next to Chloe. Miranda’s hips had developed a mind of their own.
Devon looked up, aghast.
“Miranda? What are…”
“Oh, now, hello there. The famous Miranda, is it?”
Devon shook with uncertainty.
This was not supposed to happen.
These worlds were not supposed to meet.
To crash into one another.
And Miranda had, absolutely, not thought about what would happen past the moment she sat down.
Chloe’s presence was dangerously intoxicating.
Miranda, who had never so much as considered kissing a girl, felt just the tiniest bit of what was happening to Devon.
And that was absolutely not what she wanted.
She steeled herself, forced the flush from her cheeks, crossed her legs that had allowed themselves to part.
“The famous Chloe, is it?”
She tried to sound strong.
Maybe it worked.
Chloe raised one eyebrow, tilted her head a bit, obviously trying to ascertain what was going on.
She was clearly a woman not used to being surprised.
There was a long, but not awkward, silence.
“Is there something I can do for you, Miranda?”
Both women turned glares on Devon, who immediately sunk back into silence.
“I’ve been hearing about you. I’ve been watching what you’ve been doing to Devon.”
She hadn’t planned on admitting that, but lying seemed pointless.
“Oh, baby, I’m not saying I’m opposed to having two little things jumping when I snap my fingers, but I’m a little busy with her. She did get here first, and all.”
Miranda’s hips shifted, as the other woman so casually chatted about the deep thing happening between her and Devon. And Miranda knew that some part of her wanted to be included in that. But it wasn’t what she really needed.
“No, no, I…I…” she stammered. She’d played out so much of this in her head, but never to this point.
“I don’t want to want you. I don’t know what you are doing to her, or how. I don’t want to be that beautiful mess you’ve turned her into.”
She stared at Devon for a moment. And yes, she was a beautiful mess.
“Then what is it, exactly, that you want? I know you have a straight-girl crush on her, and I’m happy to share, when the time is right.”
“Quiet,” Chloe gently snapped.
“I don’t have a crush on her.”
“Shut up. It doesn’t matter. I want what you have. I want to do what you do. I want to make them need me. Like she needs you. I don’t understand any of this. But I know I want it. I know I need it. I didn’t know before. I wasn’t sure before I sat down. But I fucking need it. Please, Chloe. You have to show me how.”
“Really? Like me. Not like her? Not all tied up in a knot of need so deep, so pure, she thinks she might burst into tears at any moment?”
Chloe’s face was almost touching Miranda’s. Her warm, wet breath carried the magic.
And Miranda did want that.
Wanted to kiss Chloe, and promise to be hers forever, and beg to kiss her toes and kneel for her and wait endless days for even the tiniest scrap of attention because it would all be worth it for her and to be that needful creature, lost and pure.
Miranda’s eyes rolled back into her head.
It was too much.
Chloe was too much.
All this happened in the briefest of moments.
A very long time, for Miranda.
But somewhere, deep inside, she found herself.
Brought herself back.
Because none of that was what she really needed.
Want, yes. Who wouldn’t want that?
But not need.
And this, all of this, Chloe, Devon, Miranda, this was about need.
She took in Chloe’s breath.
Chloe seemed honestly confused.
“That isn’t a lie.”
Her lips squirmed, unsure of what was happening.
Miranda felt a certain sense of pride in that, of catching this goddess off guard. She was certain that she was special. That Chloe would never look at her as she did Devon.
“You want to be like me.”
“In all my years, no one has ever asked for that. Not that I can remember.”
“I’m not like the other girls.”
Miranda’s confidence was growing. Faster than she could keep up. She inched closer to Chloe.
“Can you teach me?”
Chloe thought for a moment.
“Maybe. It isn’t teaching. I can’t teach this to you. Not like you mean.”
“Whatever I have to do, I’ll do.”
“You might not like it. I’m not sure I can do it, but you might not like it.”
“Do I look like I care, Chloe?”
“You fucking do not.”
Miranda realized something. Something important.
She had power.
Just a tiny, tiny bit.
And she realized why.
Chloe wanted this, too.
Miranda didn’t know if Chloe realized it, but she knew nonetheless.
“Give this to me.”
“And if I do this? If I make you into someone like me? If I even can? What do I get out of it, Miranda?”
“You get me.”
“I can have you, already.”
“No, you get me as a partner. An equal.”
Chloe chuckled softly.
“Let’s not get crazy.”
“Then a Padawan to your Jedi. A Priestess to your Goddess.”
Miranda saw something change in Chloe’s powerful, intimidating eyes.
“A hand to hold.”
And she did. Miranda took Chloe’s hand in hers.
Chloe stared down at their hands, clasped together.
Then, back up into Miranda’s eyes.
It was a look that said ‘yes’.
It was a look that hid a darkness, a warning.
It was a look that spoke of commitment, and of the punishment should that commitment be broken.
All of that was the undercurrent of Chloe’s reply.
“Don’t you ever let go.”
I was still dizzy from Chloe’s attentions. Her touch, her words, her power.
The way she handled me.
The way she controlled me.
Made me obey.
Made me need to obey.
It felt like I could barely hear anything but her voice.
And then there was Miranda.
My beautiful Miranda.
And what the actual fuck was she doing here?
I tried to understand, to follow the conversation, but it was so hard to focus, and I had to keep holding Chloe’s panties just right or I was sure they’d somehow break and I couldn’t bear the thought.
I had to listen to them, and then repeat their words in my head to try and make sense of them.
“I want to make them need me. Like she needs you”*
I didn’t know if Miranda understood. I barely understood. Could she even begin to handle something like me? Beautiful, sometimes too sweet, Miranda, wanting this power?
“I fucking need it”*
These four words, I played them over and over in my head. In Miranda’s voice.
I loved it.
I loved hearing that deep need in her.
I loved hearing the strength in her.
I loved her so much.
But then Chloe was touching her, holding hands.
“Don’t you ever let go.”*
And I guess I made a sound because suddenly they were both looking at me, and Chloe moved away from Miranda, up close to me.
She held my face gently in her hands.
“Baby, baby, it’s OK,” her thumb bushed away the tears I didn’t know I’d been crying, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you. That is NOT what is happening, you understand? You understand what Miranda’s asking for, right?”
“A little. Yes.”
“OK, so, like I said, this is new for me. This is a new place for me to go. But you are coming with me on this, right? I don’t know if I can do this without you.”
“My throat to your wrist.”
“Yes, baby, yes. You can’t leave.”
“No, I can’t.”
And before I knew it, the tips of our tongues were touching. They slipped from between our lips to find each other, to touch, tentatively, then with the tiniest of movements.
I could feel more of her seeping into me, but this time it was a calming thing. I felt no need for more than this contact, this tiny swirling of wet flesh, hers and mine.
I held this woman’s panties in my hands.
I held her tongue with mine.
Her fingers moved into my hair and gripped me, not to bring me closer, but simply to say that I was kept.
It went on, and on.
Miranda’s face was obscenely close, just watching, fascinated, in her own way, under the spell that was Chloe. No. The spell that was Chloe and me.
Someone’s fingers were digging into my thigh hard enough that it would leave fingernail marks.
I didn’t care whose.
My thighs parted.
Like they were born to do so.
Catch up with the story here