Mistress Helene and Grace

Thank you mollycactus! This story wouldn't be possible without your help.

Grace is a character from Submission in the Sun and Sand. Inspired by carrie p.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 years or older when in sexual situations.

Chapter One

Grace was thirsty ... and horny.

She'd heard about a lesbian bar in the pricier part of town. She might not exactly "fit in" there, since she was dressed in her habitual sleeveless black shirt and tattered black jeans. Her jet black spiky hair and pierced eyebrows might engender a few scowls in such an establishment. But she didn't care. If you're a butch lesbian, you may as well act the part, was her philosophy. At 21 years of age, Grace had the hormones of youth surging through her and felt she had it all under control and knew her role and place in life.

As she entered, many sets of eyes flicked in her direction. They scanned her hair, piercings and outfit, and couldn't help but note the tattoo on her arm depicting two interlocking symbols of Venus done in a quite creative style. She was proud of that tattoo. It was her marker on her territory. As her boots clumped across the hardwood floor of the bar, the eyes left her, dismissively and disapprovingly.

As Grace's eyes adjusted to the subdued lighting, she saw lots of couples and small groups of women, drinking and chatting. She recognized "All the Girls Love Alice" by Elton John being played on the bar's sound system. All of the women seemed dressed up, several notches higher than Grace's getup, which made Grace's entrance that much more obvious. But being butch, Grace wasn't fazed one bit. She looked for a place to sit.

Most, if not all, of the tables were occupied. But the stools at the bar were empty. Empty, except for one lone woman, sitting there at the end, completely poised. The woman had shown no sign of noticing Grace's arrival. She sipped her white wine. Even that act of sipping her drink looked elegant. Grace looked more carefully at the impeccably dressed female.

In the bar lights, it wasn't possible to discern the woman's hair color. It could've been dirty blonde, or brunette, or auburn. But it looked like shining silk, perfectly straight strands cascading to the level of the woman's shoulders. Her dress could've been satin or silk, and it had a slit up one side high enough to show the woman's bare hip, revealing the fact that she obviously wore no panties. The slit had fallen open, allowing the entire length of one long, extremely shapely leg to be in full view. This was a woman Grace would love to take home.

Brashly, Grace plodded over to sit on the stool next to the enchanting female. Speaking to the bartender, she barked, "I'll have a boilermaker." She ignored the slight wince the woman behind the bar made, hearing this order.

When the beer mug and the shot of whiskey were placed before her, Grace dropped the shot into the beer glass, and quickly chugged it down. If there were mutterings of dismay from the tables behind her, Grace appeared to be oblivious to them. She wiped some foam off her lips with her forearm and tried to think how to break the ice. A curious, but fascinating scent wafted into her nostrils.

Turning to the woman, Grace tried to make what she considered small talk. "That's a nice scent you're wearing, lady. What perfume is it?"

The woman looked Grace fully in the face for the first time. Her eyes were dark pools that were mesmerizing. She took her time responding. During that time, Grace felt like her very soul was being scanned and probed by those eyes. She'd never felt anything like this before. Unthinking, Grace actually leaned slightly toward the woman, as if hanging on her answer.

Finally, the perfect ruby lips below those compelling eyes curved into a restrained smile, parted, and the woman spoke. In a haunting, melodious tone, she answered, "I'm wearing no perfume at all."

Grace gulped. "No perfume?" she thought. "That scent is just her? It makes me want to ... well, not just her scent. Everything about her -- hair, eyes, mannerisms, voice, style -- was so compelling. And she radiated such an aura of control. As if nothing startled or shook her." As these thoughts raced through Grace's mind, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. A woman at one of the tables was subtly signaling her to come over.

"Excuse me," Grace said, as she stood up. The woman made no comment and appeared uninterested in Grace's sudden exit, sipping her wine. Grace went over to see what the gesturing woman wanted.

"Yes?" said Grace when she was close enough to converse.

"I wanted to warn you, whoever you are. That's Mistress Helene you're trying to talk with over there. You're way out of your league. She'll chew you up into little pieces and spit you out," the woman conveyed,

sotto voce

.

"Oh?" Grace retorted. "We'll see about that." She headed back to the bar.

Behind her back, the woman who tried to warn her rolled her eyes and said to her companion, "Ah, the confidence of youth. Haven't I always told you that youth is wasted on the young?" Her companion giggled politely. They both intermittently glanced at the bar to witness Grace going down in flames.

Grace reclaimed the bar stool next to the serene personification of femininity. Turning to the woman again, she said, "Sorry if we got off on the wrong foot somehow. My name is Grace." She stuck out her hand invitingly.

The woman looked alternatively amused and disdainful, eyeing Grace up and down. She made no movement to take Grace's hand. Those oh so desirable lips of hers parted once again and she spoke. "If you wish to have a conversation with me, girl, you will address me by my proper title, which is Mistress Helene. And you will do so while kneeling humbly at my feet. Is that understood?" The words were delivered with power, but also with perfect control, as if the woman didn't care one way or the other how Grace would react to them.

Something primal was triggered in Grace's core, as those words rang in her ears. Something she'd never suspected even existed. She felt her knees folding, bending, as if compelled to do so. More than anything else in the world at that moment, she actually wanted to kneel as she was told. She craved the approval of this woman. She had no idea why, but she had to have it, just like she had to breathe. Come to think of it, she wasn't breathing, since her body was busy trying to decide what to do. She drew a shuddering breath and slowly sank to her knees at the woman's feet.

Grace's heart was now pounding in her chest. She was kneeling as if praying to her new Goddess. She didn't understand why she was doing it. She was a butch. She controlled the action. It was part of her DNA. Yet was it? Self-doubt was flooding through Grace's mind. Somehow this felt right, worshiping her Mistress.

The women at the adjoining table were now snickering, seeing Grace on her knees in front of Mistress Helene. The woman who warned Grace guffawed, "See, it only took 15 seconds and that arrogant punk is on her knees."

Mistress Helene extended her foot in front of Grace. Her foot was encased in a Jimmy Choo open toe high heel sandal, and each of her toes bore an immaculate bright red nail polish.

"Worship my foot and I'll consider taking you home."

The voice, though soft, was commanding. An unseen force made Grace bend her head forward slowly, again breathing in that intoxicating scent, as she lowered her lips to that beckoning foot. Grace no longer felt like her body was hers to control, that somehow this bewitching woman had seized it from her with her casual indifference.

"Mistress," Grace uttered, but she thought someone else had said it. She lifted up her Mistress's foot, first licking the sole of the shoe, and then sucking on the heel.

"Very good, Grace."

The words of praise acted as a surge of adrenaline for Grace. Somehow pleasing this woman was a drug she had to have more of. She unfastened the buckle of the shoe and slipped it off. She carefully placed the shoe on the floor and then proceeded to suck each toe as if it were the finest piece of hard candy. Mistress Helene wiggled her foot, encouraging Grace to lick the sole of her foot. She did so, and Mistress Helene curled her foot in appreciation, letting a soft moan escape her lips.

"Pay our tab Grace. We're going for a ride."

Chapter Two

Grace was in a daze. She paid the bar tab for both of them and then took Mistress Helene's hand. She was being led out of the bar, oblivious to the stares of its patrons, noting another conquest for Queen Helene. She felt humiliation at surrendering complete control to Mistress Helene, but at the same time felt complete freedom at not having to dictate the action. The women from the adjoining table who'd watched the entire proceeding, including the foot worshiping, toasted their wine glasses to Queen Helene's unquestioned prowess.

Grace in tow, Mistress Helene exited through the rear entrance of the bar to a paved parking lot. It was pitch black and cold. Mistress Helene's BMW convertible was parked in the corner of the lot underneath the orange hazy light of the streetlamp above. They stood outside the passenger door.

"Strip."

Grace shook her head, not to signify that she was refusing, but to clear the cobwebs in it. She thought she heard Mistress Helene say 'strip' with those enchanting lips of hers. Grace was sure she was mistaken.

"Strip." This time the command was in a much firmer voice and Mistress Helene was tapping her foot with impatience.

Grace realized that she'd heard correctly the first time and was trying to get her head around the fact that she'd be nude in the parking lot of a bar with a woman she had just met minutes before. She was no longer certain of much anymore, but she was certain that she wanted desperately to go home with Mistress Helene. Grace started with her boots, sitting on the asphalt, and pulling each of them off. Then her socks. She stood up and unbuttoned her shirt and handed it to Mistress Helene. She then handed over her pants. Standing there in her bra and panties, with goosebumps rising up on her skin from the cool night air, Grace looked at Mistress Helene with pleading eyes.

There was no sympathetic return glance. Mistress Helene extended her hand. Grace knew what was expected of her. She unfastened her bra, slipped her panties off and handed them to Mistress Helene. As she was handing over her last remnants of privacy, the back door opened and the two woman from the adjoining table walked into the parking lot.

" ... and did you see her shoes? They must have cost at least $500. That poor girl..." The conversation came to an abrupt stop as they saw Grace standing nude in the parking lot, her arms covering her breasts, shivering. Grace saw the women and her face turned a bright red. The woman who'd warned her mouthed, "I told you so." The women stood there, silent spectators, as Mistress Helene casually opened her trunk to toss Grace's belongings into it. She leaned into the trunk to remove Grace's wallet and phone from the pants pockets and handed them back to Grace. Grace was forced to drop her arms, thus exposing her breasts to her audience. Mistress Helene swept her long silky hair behind her as she walked to the passenger door, allowing Grace to seat herself, and then closing the door behind her.

The women watched as Mistress Helene walked around the car and opened the driver's door. She reached into a door pocket, and pulled out a wispy garment that proved to be panties. The watching women went slack jawed as they got a glimpse of Helene's pussy as she pulled her dress aside to lift the panties into place. The Domme then climbed into her car, lowered the top of the convertible, and backed out of her space. They were treated to a close up of Grace in the passenger seat, stripped of her clothes and her dignity. The shoulder belt holding Grace to the seat amply emphasized the fact that her tits hung forward from either side of it. The convertible lurched forward, flashed its brake lights at the street, turned left and was gone.

"Hands at your side." Mistress Helene wanted Grace to be fully exposed on the ride to her house. Grace was hyperaware of her surroundings, with the streets for the most part vacant at that late hour. They approached a red light and a car came up on their right to stop as well. The lone occupant of that car, a middle aged man, stared at Grace. Grace fastidiously avoided eye contact, but she could sense the man's eyes as he raked over what he could see of Grace's nude torso. The light turned green and the convertible proceeded through the intersection. The other car didn't move, the driver still stunned at what he had just seen.

Except for one or two other curious drivers, the remainder of the trip was uneventful, but Grace was still a nervous wreck at what might have been. A police car? A carful of boisterous teens? A lonely trucker, staring down from his cab, quickly getting on his CB to alert the rest of the trucking world? She was relieved to see the convertible pull into the driveway of a beautiful home, a Tudor style brick house on a tree-lined street. Mistress Helene punched the button on the rear view mirror to open the garage door and Grace found herself in a cool clean two car garage. The other car was under a cover with 'Porsche' stitched on it. Mistress Helene led Grace to the back door of the house. She unlocked the door and flicked on the light. Grace found herself in the kitchen. On her left was the broad expanse of a marble topped island with high backed breakfast stools in front of it and the usual complement of cooktop, ovens and other appliances behind it. On her right was a breakfast nook surrounded by a large bay window that overlooked a garden beyond. Grace had never seen a kitchen as lovely as this one, even in magazines.

Grace's gaze then went to Mistress Helene. She was able to get her first good look at her Mistress. She was as cool and elegant as in the bar, with not a hair out of place on her straight blond hair, shimmering in the bright lights of the kitchen, her slinky turquoise silk dress with its plunging neckline and of course her exquisite matching high heel sandals. Mistress Helene was probably 4 inches taller than Grace, and with her heels she towered over her. Mistress Helene's curvy body and shapely legs were in sharp contrast to Grace's more stout, angular body. Grace found Mistress Helene to be the epitome of femininity . . . and control.

Mistress Helene's voice snapped Grace out of her introspective mood. "Put down your wallet and phone on the counter," she commanded. Grace obeyed quickly, freeing her hands, but she now made no move to cover her intimate parts, already becoming accustomed to being naked. Mistress Helene fixed her eyes on Grace with an icy stare, and Grace shuddered slightly. "You know you acted like an animal in that bar, girl," Mistress Helene stated. "Stomping in, throwing your weight around, guzzling that awful concoction." The elegant woman shook her head with disapproval.

Grace quailed, and visibly blanched at this dressing-down.

"Therefore, I think it appropriate that you be treated like the animal you are, until you mature." She lifted a large dog collar off of a hook placed near the door. "I think this will fit you, my pet. You can show everyone what a little bitch you are, wearing this."

Grace was appalled. Wear a dog collar? Go from butch to bitch? The last remnants of her former dominance tried to re-assert themselves. She slowly shook her head side to side in a display of defiance and negativity.

Mistress Helene just smiled. "I'm not forcing you to do anything, girl. You're free to leave. It's your choice. Wear this, be my pet and stay here with me, or take your wallet, phone, clothes and leave. But if you leave, never bother me again."

Grace's stomach knotted, hearing that choice. Her heart felt like it'd climbed into her throat. She was dazzled by this radiant woman, and more than anything wanted to get to know her better -- to spend time with her. She'd already stripped herself naked in a parking lot, and had been driven around town in the buff, being ogled by other drivers. Would wearing a dog collar in this house really be so bad? As she was mulling this over, again that mysterious, bewitching scent of Mistress Helene floated into her nostrils. Her body reacted -- nipples stiffening, labia engorging, and pussy tingling.

Instead of picking up her things, and walking toward the garage, Grace took a step closer to Mistress Helene. She lifted her head up high, exposing her neck, tacitly acquiescing to the collar.

But Mistress Helene wanted a verbal commitment. Holding the collar before Grace's face, she said, "If you truly wish this, you need to tell me you want to be collared, and you want to be my bitch."

Grace's eyes seemed to widen as her eyebrows climbed upward. She was being given a choice and yet felt as if she didn't have one. Drawing a shuddering breath, she whispered, "Please Mistress Helene. I want to wear your collar and be your pet."

Mistress Helene chuckled. "You want to be my pet? You mean you want to be my bitch. Is that right?"

Face coloring, and cheeks feeling hot, Grace answered quickly and with conviction, "Yes, Mistress. I want to be your bitch."

Satisfied, Mistress Helene buckled the collar around Grace's neck, and then stroked the shivering girl's arm softly. "That's my good little pet. You're mine now." Grace felt like she'd wag her tail, if she had one, feeling Mistress Helene's caress.

Taking a leash from a hook, and clipping it to Grace's collar, the Domme said, "Let me give you a tour of the house, so you can get acquainted with it." As they started to walk out of the kitchen, she stopped and said to Grace, "No, my little bitch. When leashed, you'll crawl on all fours. Get down."

Shamefacedly, and now in a fully submissive mindset, Grace lowered herself to the floor, and crawled alongside her Mistress.

As they began the tour, Mistress Helene informed her new pet, "By the way. I have some friends coming over for a small party I'm hosting. I'm sure they'll be delighted to see you."

Mistress Helene's latest off the cuff remark shocked Grace again. Grace knew now that she'd never find her center with Mistress Helene. She'd forever be off-balance, with Mistress Helene continually testing the boundaries of her submission. As she was crawling on her hands and knees down a carpeted hallway, being led on a leash, Grace revisited her decision once again in her mind. She was a butch, not a sub. Yet there was something so compelling about Mistress Helene that she couldn't walk (or crawl) away from it. It was like an engrossing story where you needed to know how it ended. And in this case, Grace was the main character.

The tour started with the guest bedroom and bathroom on the ground floor, Mistress Helene's study, and a work out room. All of these areas were done with a top grade fit and finish. Grace noted that the guest bedroom and bath was far more luxurious than her one bedroom apartment in an industrial area of the city.

Mistress Helene led Grace to a carpeted stairway. Grace negotiated the stairs with some difficulty and her knees were now starting to get sore. But her thoughts of her aches vanished as she was led into the master bedroom. She'd never seen a room like this, even in the movies. There was a canopied bed at one end of the room, with the canopy made of a sheer off-white material that gave the room an exotic feel. There was a separate sitting area in the room, complete with a sofa and two chairs, all upholstered in a coral and dark blue brocade. The room had floor to ceiling windows on one wall. There was an adjoining master bath with a cream color limestone floor, spacious walk-in shower, and a separate soaking tub. Beyond the bathroom was a dressing room that contained a French provincial table, chair and mirror and compartments for clothes and shoes surrounding it.