Sam
Sam woke up spooning Princess.
They hadn't started that way. Princess had been barely awake in her bed when Sam returned to the master bedroom. After evicting the Cordobas she'd gone back to the kitchen and poured herself a drink.
Arak wasn't popular in the US. In fact, it was damned hard to find a lot of the time. But Sam's family had spent 12 years in Isreal and, similar to Europe, there was less obsession with drinking ages there, so she'd gotten used to it well before she turned 18.
She'd all but stopped drinking once she started taking subs on. But for the past three years she'd gotten back into the habit. And she wasn't going to be doing anything with Princess that night.
So it was with a slight buzz she'd returned to her bedroom and found her princess, nude and partially sprawled on the bed. One leg was tucked under the covers, but most of her ass and the rest of her body was exposed. It had only taken a slight tug to pull the sheet aside and expose the girl's pussy. It showed no signs of the fucking it had received only hours before. It was clean, bare, and tight; a little slit that promised so much pleasure.
Her hand had cupped Princess's ass before she realized it, and her middle finger had found the crease. She'd slid her finger down to the perineum, close enough to feel the heat of Princess's sex. Then Princess had moaned and shifted, not away from the touch, but toward it. Sam had needed to pull her hand away or her finger would have slipped in.
Am I The Don now? Getting off on assaulting girls who don't want it?
Sam had thought.
Except that moan hadn't exactly been a protest. And she hadn't flinched
away
.
Deciding she was too tired and drunk to think about any of that, she'd simply changed and got into bed, leaving some clear separation between the two of them.
Except that separation had clearly gone. One of her arms was tucked up between Princess's breasts, held there by the fingers interlocked with her own. Her legs tucked up behind Princess's, the girl's ass pressed firmly into her crotch. If she'd been a man and woken up with a morning erection, she probably would have penetrated the girl by accident.
Fuck, she feels so good.
Somewhat guiltily, she let herself lay there, enjoying the position and the feel of the girl's body on hers. Despite the teasing and the hostility, Maria and the Don were right about some things. It
had
been a long time since Sam had enjoyed a partner. Longer still since she'd had a partner she could order around and know they'd do what she wanted.
And she'd decided to take on a slave who was straight as a laser. Who'd screamed out in panic when a woman's tongue got near her vagina.
She tried not to think about the likelihood that whoever Princess's unconscious snuggled up with, it wasn't her. It might be her ex, or just some generic fantasy guy who'd rescued her, the damsel in distress. She'd probably moaned when Sam touched her because she'd been dreaming about "properly thanking" her hero.
Her mood soured, Sam slipped out of bed without waking her sub and checked the clock. It was 7:30 but Princess deserved to sleep more. She got up and made herself busy.
=-=-=-=-=
After an appropriate amount of time passed, she made a phone call and cashed in a favor. Shortly after that she ordered Princess to put on a shirt and sit on a video call in her office. An hour later, Princess emerged and shocked Sam by walking up and giving her a hug.
"Thank you Mistress Samira," she said.
The hug put her head resting mostly on Sam's breasts, with her head tucked under Sam's chin. Like the morning snuggle, Sam allowed herself to enjoy the contact for a moment and marvel at the feel of Princess's soft body against her own.
Neither of them moved to break the embrace for a while, but Sam told herself she had things to do, responsibilities as the Mistress. She told Princess to go tend to her chores, then went into the office.
"How is she, Doctor Carlisle?" Sam asked the sweater-wearing bespectacled man on the screen.
"Considering how you described the problem when you called, she's fine," the man replied.
"And what does 'fine' mean, for her?" Sam asked.
"Sam, I know because of your habits and lifestyle you want to control her. But you can't control how she feels or what she thinks, beyond the context of your roleplay. I can't reveal any more about her because she's my patient and, legally, you're nothing to her. You aren't her caretaker, you don't have medical decision or power of attorney, and you certainly aren't her parent," Doctor Carlisle said.
"Doctor, I need to know if I should stop...roleplaying...with her?" Sam asked.
The doctor looked at her intently in a way that made Sam squirm. "From a psychological and medical perspective? No."
"Really?" Sam asked, surprised.
"Sam, remember me? Eugene Carlisle, newfangled progressive psychiatrist that doesn't think alternative lifestyles are automatically bad? I can't and won't go into more detail but yeah, what you've got going on with her is fine. Except..." he said trailing off.
"Except what?" I pressed.
"Except why do
you
want me to give you an excuse to stop?" he asked.
Sam scowled. "I didn't call you to do a session on
me
," she griped.
"With. I do sessions
with
patients, not to them or on them," Dr. Carlisle said.
"Well you're not doing a session with, on, or to me," Sam said.
"Samira-" Dr. Carlisle said but he was cut off as the screen of Sam's laptop slammed closed and the program automatically shut down. She sat at her desk breathing hard after several minutes, her phone went off with a text notification.
> If you want to talk, you have my contact info -- Dr. Carlisle.
