Obedience (part three) - the woman

[Ar****]

He’d been nothing but gentle once dawn kissed your horizon. He’d rubbed your hands and feet, carefully lowering you from your bonds. A drink of cold water and some chocolate pretzels are next, followed by sleep in a clean bed, his warm arms around you.
Returning to life after true release is difficult. The memories flood you, warm and tantalizing, but it isn’t until lunch his number lights your phone with a text.
Tonight at seven. Dress well. What is your safeword?
Glass, you text back immediately.
And what happens when you use it?
The scene stops without consequences, Master. BDSM is about trust and safety.

Good girl.

Seven pm sees you in a navy evening gown and single strand of freshwater pearls. Another set of lingerie rustles beneath, delicious against your sensitive skin.

“Welcome, miss. I take it you’re with Mr. Blake?” And, as you nod; “excellent. You’re in the VIP room, then. If you’ll follow me?”

You follow him to the back, past a room with a single black door. You relax slightly as you see him, smiling like summer and latent as tears.

He pulls out your chair and beckons the waiter. A glass of red will appear shortly, and sure enough, the charming young man sets one before you. Master takes and smells it, nods in approval, and describes not only the bouquet, but the g***s, the vineyard.

To your surprise, the door opens again. A woman in plum velvet enters the room. She has a mane of wild brown curls and grey eyes, but you can’t take your eyes off her lips. They’re soft, inviting.

You take another drink.

“Angelica,” your master says in greeting. The woman bows her head.

“Theodore,” she acknowledges. Her eyes catch you like a net. “This is her?”

And, at his nod; she takes your chin in her hand, forcing you to meet her gaze. “My dear,” she says warmly, “you’re every bit as pretty as he promised.” Her fingers trail over your wine-soaked mouth. “It’s such a pity you’re so delicate for a selfish little slut. Isn’t it?”

She sits. More wine. Your heart beats rapidly, but he does nothing but observe you carefully, his full attention as heavy as moonlight. “Answer her,” he says quietly.

“Y-yes,” you manage, your cheeks as red as sundown.

“Yes….?” She draws you out, a calm, clear challenge in her face.

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m a selfish little slut, miss Angelica.”

She chuckles. “Angelica is fine for now. Mistress is only for good girls who deserve treats.”

And just like that, you know. The conversation is cultured and witty, enjoyable; the food superb. You drink too much wine before you realize it and excuse yourself to the posh bathroom to send a text to master.

I consent, you write. Before I drink any more, I consent and remember to clearly accept whatever attention you think I deserve. Please forgive my overindulgence.

As you emerge, the desert is on the table. You sit, and Angelica studies you. You pour a glass of water, and she nods in approval.

“You have something on your face,” she says absently. She leans forward to brush away some little speck of dust, but her hand takes your leg, pulling back your dress. Her fingers graze your pussy through your panties. “Did I get it?”

Wetness spurred forward to meet her touch. “Yes, thank you,” you manage breathlessly.

“You can call me mistress now,” says Angelica calmly. “Get on the table.”

You shrink back. “I beg your pardon?”

“This is my restaurant,” she continues. “The staff are gone. It’s just us, and you will climb on the table and lie down.”

“You can use your safeword, pet,” says Master. “At any time.”

His voice rejuvenates you.

You climb on the table with determination and ***. They join the perfect meal heating your belly. He puts a clean napkin in your mouth, holds down your wrists. Mistress Angelica pulls your dress up to show your lingerie, which she carelessly pulls away from you, not even bothering to undress you properly. She takes your nipple in her mouth and you gasp, the other rolling in her hand. Your panties finally soak through.

“Oh, you poor little slave,” she promises. “Your ***’s just begun…”