Roisin McCormick was a woman of considerable talent and accomplishment. At the meager age of twenty-six she had landed a journalist's position at the prestigious magazine, Sapphic Science. Tall and beautiful, she had scarlet hair that descended in graceful waves down to her shoulders, freckles across her pale white skin, and while she could hardly be considered voluptuous, her breasts and arse were tight and perky, especially in the jeans and snug sweater she wore today. It was a cool day in this quaint town in the south of France, and her boots clicked against the ground as she raised her hand to ring the doorbell of an old country house.
The door clicked open automatically, as though powered by a spring, and Roisin stepped inside. Her lowcut sweater highlighted her cleavage, ruddy cast in the setting sun that drifted through the stained glass windows. The room she had entered was empty, save for an armchair and curtain that cut off half the room and the ascending stairwell.
"Hello?" she called out in a lilting Irish accent. "Is anyone here? I'm Roisin McCormick, from Sapphic Science. Here to interview Carmen."
There was no response, but she noticed a note tied to the armchair. It said "sit down and face the curtain" and so Roisin did as it said, placing her tight, shapely arse into the seat. It was quite comfortable and had a bit of a scent to it. Roisin's tongue rolled across her lips as a mischievous light flickered in her eyes. She recognized the smell of cunt. After all, she'd made her bones in a lesbian gossip rag where she wrote about her dirty sexual encounters, mostly with nineteen year olds and supposed straight girls, forcing them to submit to her well and supplicate at her cunt. Cunt was Roisin's primary motivation in life, and she chased skirt as both a personal and professional passion.
But Sapphic Science was no lesbian gossip rag - it was a serious magazine devoted to the erotic lives of lesbians, and Roisin was determined to make a mark with her first article. Her body tensed as she heard footsteps on the curtained staircase, and she raised her body to attention.
A figure descended, silhouetted behind the curtain as lamps lit up behind the fabric. Roisin's eyes widened. The woman who descended was very different from her usual type - young, nubile and slender - she was the living embodiment of curves, wrapped in a form-fitting dress that hugged her broad hips and spectacular arse. Her breasts were magnificent, larger than any Roisin had ever seen before. Roisin found herself sitting up, her legs spread slightly. Without saying a word, without showing her face, this woman demanded attention.
She took a seat behind the curtain, her back towards Roisin. "You are the reporter, yes?" she said, her voice exuding a Latin purr. So Carmen wasn't a French woman. "You've come a long way from Dublin."
"Well, it's worth it for this," Roisin said, pulling out her voice recorder. "Do you mind if I record our interview, Carmen? You are Carmen, right?"
"That is what I am known to the public as, yes."
Roisin felt her breath hitch. The woman was sitting on a stool, and her derriere was pressed against the curtain, rumplying the fabric slightly. She was filled with the desire to caress the work of art, yet she did not dare move from her position. This was an interview, not a hookup. Besides, she had a feeling Carmen was older, and Roisin didn't sleep with older women.
"Carmen, you're known for your incredible skill in breaking down submissives. You train submissives for clients around the world, and create the most subservient and skilled slave girls for the upper echelons of the lesbian community. Can you describe your process?"
Carmen sighed and raised her arse from the stool briefly, before setting it back down again. "My process is better experienced than described. And I do not divulge the intimate details to anyone. But philosophically, I treat a young woman as a blank canvas. Through experimentation, discipline and submission, this canvas can be transformed into a work of art. The process by which I craft this artwork is known as apprenticeship. I take only a select few women into apprenticeship each year, and each one emerges from this apprenticeship as a true sapphic virtuoso." She turned around now, overwhelming Roisin with her aroma. "Do you consider yourself a virtuoso, Miss McCormick?"
Roisin's knickers were flooding. This woman, whose face she had yet to lay eyes upon, had a hold of her. "I... I'm good at sex. I've been fucking girls since I was sixteen. I know how to please a woman."
Carmen scoffed. "Oh, please. You're just a whore. A dirty Irish slut."
Roisin gaped. She felt as though she'd been slapped. "Excuse me? Where do you get the right to speak to me that way?" Heat flushed in her chest. None of the college whores she bedded ever spoke to her that way, and she couldn't understand why she liked it.
"I read your old articles. Fingerbanging biker dykes in a bathroom stall doesn't make you a good lover, little girl. You may be a great writer, but you don't know what it means to fuck." She stood up now, and Roisin felt her presence like a wave crashing over her. "I was just like you once. A dirty slut who liked to slurp on young cunt. I thought I could fuck like a champion but I was only a baby dyke with a pussy addiction." Her vulgar shift in tone had Roisin spellbound. "That's why I agreed to this interview, Roisin. Just as I once apprenticed to a mistress, so will you. I will educate you in the ways of sapphic love. All you must do is submit to me."
Roisin felt her body trembling. Her loins were soaked and her nipples were hard. She had to get out of here. If she didn't leave soon, Carmen was going to turn her into a pathetic, mewling kitten.
"I won't submit. I'm a top," she managed weakly.
Carmen laughed. It was a cruel, rolling laugh that made Roisin curl up in her seat. "I can smell your cunt from here. Do you want to masturbate?"
Roisin nodded, her body betraying her. She unbuttoned her jeans and rubbed her hand over the top of her panties. "Yes, please," she whimpered.
"Close your eyes, slut. And show me how you play with yourself."
#
Carmen was quite pleased with herself. She'd picked out the redheaded slut herself, finding the skinny whore to be quite appealing on both an aesthetic and personality level. Roisin was a girl who thought she was a woman, a baby lesbian fancying herself a sapphic goddess, and she needed to be humbled. Carmen stepped through the curtain, pleased to see that her newest plaything had done as instructed and closed her eyes.
Carmen was tall for a Latin woman but not as tall as the Irish slut with her hand down her pants. Still, she knew she emanated authority in the white dress that hugged her burgeoning hips and heaving breasts. She kept sharp red nails on her right hand, but not on her left. In her left hand she held a blindfold.
Roisin's pale cheeks were flushed as she rubbed desperately at her cunt. "Good slut, don't peek," Carmen said as she wrapped the blindfold over Roisin's eyes. "How does your pussy feel?"
The redhead bit her lip. She was resisting.
Carmen slapped her across the face. "Answer me, whore."
