Bewildered
Frankie parked in the driveway of an interwar suburban semi. For a moment she slipped just enough out of character to pull a bashful face that a single woman in her twenties owned a house which must have set her back the best part of two hundred thousand. Then the mask slipped back into place as she walked round the car and opened the door for Jenna. She showed her indoors, motioning straight up the stairs with no polite pretence of being shown around or offered a drink.
The back room looked at first glance like a den that could serve at a pinch as an occasional bedroom. A single divan built in under the window doubled as a deep sofa, making the most of the limited floor space. Jenna looked nervously around as Frankie took off her biker jacket and tossed it casually on the bed. The clues were there if you looked for them: an unobtrusive zinc-plated screw eye in the top of the doorframe; a mirror on the wall opposite that was ideally placed to reflect someone who might find their wrists chained to that hook. Frankie pulled down the blinds before flicking on a stark black uplighter that glared a little too harshly off the white ceiling. She pulled her T-shirt over her head and threw it after the jacket, standing arms akimbo as she looked Jenna possessively up and down. She was wearing a surprisingly pretty and delicate red bra with lacy trim: pure Nineties shaven-headed dyke chic.
"So, tell me: just girls? Or boys as well?"
Jenna's throat closed up on her when she tried to speak. She barely managed to croak out the single word before sudden shyness stole her voice away.
"Girls ..."
Frankie retrieved a cigarette packet from her jacket and lit up without offering one to Jenna. She was laughing, chuckling quietly away to herself.
"Just girls, but ... I told you yesterday, you're about as easy to read as a book. Unbutton the blouse now ..."
Jenna undid it as Frankie watched, unsure how fast she should go or how much of a show she should put on. Frankie gave her no encouragement, simply standing and smoking with her eyes fixed on Jenna's bosom. She didn't know what to do when she had finished; was she supposed to strip, or at least to open it enough for Frankie to see more.
"... Leave it there, don't take anything off yet. You can undo the bra as well."
She fumbled behind her back, felt ungainly and clumsy for struggling under the blouse. When the clips came loose she let her hands drop limply at her sides and looked at the polished floorboards.
Frankie stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette and bent down to pull out one of the divan drawers. Underneath a folded throw that concealed them from casual inspection, Jenna could glimpse matt black leather and shiny chrome, a collection of assorted BDSM restraints that she couldn't make out in any sort of detail. Frankie rooted about for a moment and produced a deep padded patent leather collar, tall enough to force the chin up and garnished with several D-rings.
"You know, if you were mine I'd fasten this round your neck with all appropriate ceremony, and then I'd keep you crawling the whole weekend long. Would you like that?"
Jenna wanted to say yes, but her voice still wouldn't answer for her. She nodded her head. Frankie ignored her, putting the expensive craftsman piece carefully back in the bottom of the drawer and instead taking out a worn and floppy old tan dog collar that was obviously exactly that - pet shop rather than sex boutique. She slid it across the floor to stop against Jenna's shoe.
"Put that on. Down on your knees."
The meaning was clear enough, clearer for not being said in so many words. You aren't mine. You aren't a valued piece of property to be pampered and dressed up. You aren't even a useful slave. You're just a stray bitch who's wandered onto my property. She had cuffs at home, which she had only ever used alone and in secret. She had never worn a leather collar before in her life, had never put any of this gear on in front of someone else. It was utterly humiliating to fix the buckle round her own neck as she knelt at Frankie's feet. It wasn't how her fantasies had imagined - both better and worse, exquisitely embarrassing and making her ears pound. What it was doing in her belly was delicious, not to mention mortifying. Which only made it even better, which only made it worse ...
With the collar in place, Frankie dropped two wrist cuffs between her knees and told her to put them on too. They were soft purple nylon and black Velcro webbing, the sort of practical inexpensive toys that you might buy if you fancied a quick experimental game of tie-me-up for a laugh. One look in that drawer made her realise that was hardly Frankie's scene. She was being insulted, told that she wasn't a serious enough player for the real kit, told once again that she hadn't done anything to deserve being Frankie's property.
One last thing before Frankie pushed the drawer closed with her foot. She took out a dog lead, crossed the room and squatted down to slip the chain around a radiator pipe and feed it back through the leather wrist loop. She left it lying on the floor as she stood up and turned her attention back to Jenna.
"Your cunt wet yet, or do you need to stick your hand down your trousers and check?"
That, she knew, wasn't a rhetorical question. She could force her reluctant voice to make an utterly degrading admission right now, or she could do it in a couple of minutes after fingering herself for Frankie's amusement. Or she could say 'stop now, Fran', but there was something about the knowledge that she could do so which prevented her. This was harder in reality than she had ever thought it could be, and that made it better than her wildest hopes. She had to cough to clear her throat.
"My ... my cunt's wet, Frankie."
"Good. Wait."
Frankie picked up her jacket and walked out, leaving Jenna alone on her knees and reflecting on just how true that shameful admission was. Had she ever been this horny without any physical contact at all? Well, maybe when reading, but that didn't count. Never from just being in a room with another person, sharing words and looks and promises of who knew what to come. She took deliberate deep breaths to calm herself down and listened to Frankie moving about in the main bedroom. She heard footsteps coming back.
Frankie was wearing her leather jacket again, unzipped and gaping open under its own weight, with nothing underneath except her pretty feminine bra and a black crotchless harness. Her hands hung loose at her sides, not limp and defeated like Jenna's but as lightly poised as her prowling walk.
"Just girls, but ... But ..."
Jenna wasn't great at judging dimensions, she had always been suspicious of the improbable precision of porn. She guessed the dildo must be five or six inches long. It was what the websites called 'realistic', thanks to the veined circumcised shape and the balls moulded at the base, although she'd never seen anyone in her life whose skin was that weird salmon mousse shade of pink. It wasn't entirely rigid, there was enough play in its length to flop stiffly as Frankie's steps brought her closer. It didn't look remotely organic, but it seemed entirely at home standing out from between Frankie's legs. Wearing it put an edge of cruelty into her voice that hadn't been there before.
"... Suck my dick."
With it waved in her face like that, her nose was full of its rubber smell. She understood, without needing to be told, that Frankie didn't expect her to use her hands. She stretched out her jaw and put her head forward, trying to capture the knob with her tongue. It escaped and prodded her cheek, leaving her with nothing in her mouth but the unpleasant taste. She felt like an idiot. Her second try managed to trap it, suddenly it was in the back of her throat making her gag. To her surprise, Frankie didn't take her by the hair and fuck her face. She just stood in front of Jenna and let herself be fellated, accepting the worship that was her due.
Jenna had never done this before - not once, for male or female. She had never added a gag to her solitary bondage games. She had done all sorts of wonderfully rewarding oral things to mouths and breasts and clits, but she'd never been penetrated and filled like this. It felt like her mouth was being used for a cunt. It was both strangely comforting and entirely violating, like nursing on a nipple and being raped all at once. She knew Frankie was looking down at her and watching her stretched lips sliding up and down the shaft, could see the way it was making her drool out of the corner of her mouth. Frankie reached down, pushed her face away and tilted her chin back to look up.
"Ask me again. Be polite."
"Please use me, Frankie."
"As what? Cook? Do my housework?"
"Use me for sex. Please."
