Don't Be Shy 21 (Patreon)

Something touched her wrist. Kara’s eyelids fluttered. She opened her eyes to a hazy world and Lena’s touch, concrete, vivid, real, despite the teasing nature of it. Slicking over her pulse point, feeling how her heart began to race.

Kara’s eyes focused. The room was dark, but the door was open, letting in the dim ambience of the main apartment. In the shaft of light, she saw Lena sitting on her bed, dressed in her usual butch finery. A pinstripe suit holding tight, so tight, to her lovely body. Kara couldn’t imagine her in a slinky evening gown. It’d be too much, too obvious. The suit just let her body speak for itself.

Kara trembled. She wanted to moan, wanted that touch on her wrist to become a hand holding down her arm, wanted to be pinned down with Lena over her and those eyes, those fucking eyes… even being looked at by those eyes, Kara felt like she was being devoured.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Lena said, “but I need to relieve some tension. Do you want to be my release?”

Kara did not even need to think about it. It felt like she was still asleep, slipping into a wet dream, everything a perfect erotic fantasy. “Yes, Mistress. Yes, I want to play.”

For the first time, Lena’s stillness seemed like something she was working at. Something was pulling at her. She was suppressing a shudder, or some other violent motion. Lena held herself in place because she had to, not because it came naturally to her.

“I’m not going to play with you,” she said, her voice carefully composed. “I’m going to use you, as I see fit, until I’m done with you. You’re welcome to enjoy yourself—if you’re such a submissive little bitch that such a thing appeals to you—but this is going to be about my pleasure, not yours. And now that I’ve corrected you, I’ll ask again. May I use you?”

It was all so clear. All the abstracts, the vagaries, the hypotheticals that had tortured her so much—they were nothing in the face of an anticipation that filled the room until it was real, thick and oppressive and freeing, as heavy as a long hot shower when you’ve been dirty all day.

Kara couldn’t resist. Didn’t want to.

“You can’t use me enough, Mistress. You just can’t.”

Lena quivered. She stood, becoming a dark outline in a stabbing of light. Her eyes were bright but dark, shining in the shadows, and her hair seemed as liquidly black as spilled ink. Then her pale skin—almost the same color as the whites of her eyes—and the mask, which was the same color, bone-white and slashing out of the night to burn into Kara’s vision even when she blinked. Hanging from one ear to the other, it seemed like a harlequin grin, suddenly.

Lena took off her jacket. Her shirt and waistcoat were dark green, fading into the black. Her white hands, at the ends of long invisible sleeves, seemed like magician’s gloves. She reached into her pocket. She brought out a length of leather.

“On your back,” Lena ordered, her voice crisp and oh-so-satisfied. “Hands behind your back. I’m going to bind you. You don’t get to touch me. You haven’t earned it. But I can touch you. Anyone can touch a dirty slut like you, can’t they?”

Kara realized suddenly: her acquiescence was foreplay. It was a come-on, a sex act. She’d aroused Lena just by surrendering to her. Oh God, she wants me so much that just having me makes her wet.

“No, Mistress, only you.”

Lena snorted. “We’ll see.” She wound the leather—what was it, a bridle, some sort of reins?—around Kara’s wrists. She tied them tight, then tested how they cut into Kara’s skin, how much slack there was.

My Mistress won’t let me hurt myself, Kara thought, aware of how weird it was to think of Lena like that—she repeated the thought of her, a normal human woman, just another person—Lena Luthor, Lena Luthor, Lena Luthor—but Kara couldn’t get away from the thrill of thinking of her that way. My Mistress.

Kara was lying on her belly now, hands tied behind her back, her chin almost at the edge of the bed. She watched as Lena stepped in front of her, standing beside the bed in those trousers that fit her without any creases, with nothing but a luxurious expanse of fabric over bare skin. Kara’s eyes scorched at the little wafer of skin under the bottom button of Lena’s shirt. Pale, sweet—it reminded Kara of white chocolate.

Lena was hardly undressed: her pants on, her shirt buttoned, her fucking waistcoat on. But when she rolled up her sleeves, Kara felt like she was naked with her. Nothing to inhibit their intimacy, stop them from melting together, except for their sweaty skin.

“Do you think you deserve to taste me?” Lena asked.

That felt like a trick question, because right then, Kara really wanted to taste her, all of her, she wanted to kiss Lena and lick her and suck-suck-suck all the flavor out of every inch of that exquisite body.

She wanted to explore everything there was under that smart, professional, hateful suit.

She wanted to own it, plant a flag with each swipe of her tongue.

Of course she couldn’t, she wasn’t the Mistress, but she could still serve better than anyone. God, it couldn’t be that anyone else felt the same way she did, vibrated with the same hunger, when Lena called them a dirty slut…

“I didn’t ask you to think, Danvers, I asked you to answer,” Lena said, planting her hand on the back of Kara’s head and shoving her face down into the bedspread.

“No, Mistress,” Kara said, her breath stirring up a tiny snowfall of fluttering bills.

Lena let her face up. Her eyes slid upwards. “I suppose you’re right. You don’t deserve to know how I taste. But I think I’ll fuck your mouth anyway… cheerleader…”

She unzipped her fly. She reached within the crotch of her pants. And now she drew out—Kara didn’t know how she hadn’t seen it before—a strap-on. Eight inches of it. Hanging in front of Kara’s face like a weapon being brandished.

“Do you know what this is?” Lena asked.

“It’s a…” Kara didn’t think her tongue had ever actually formed the word before. “A strap-on.”

“No, Kara. It’s my cock. You want my cock, don’t you? You must want my cock, since you want me, want to be fucked by me, so you must want to be fucked by my cock.”

They’d talked about her taking it… well, they’d talked about her taking it a lot of places. But in her mouth?

“Mistress, wouldn’t you rather… you won’t feel anything with that!”

“I’m not doing this because it feels good, cheerleader. I’m doing it because there’s nothing anyone could ever do with that pretty face that could possibly be better than fucking it.”