Author's Note:
Welcome to the last of three chapters in this story about an unusual consenting relationship between adult women. Thanks again for all the votes, emails and constructive comments - all greatly appreciated and very useful. As with the last two chapters, there's a light 'dominance/submission' aspect to the story, so please be advised. Most of all, thank you very much for reading and I hope you find it an enjoyable use of your time.
*****
Trish opened her eyes. The early-morning sun brightened her tiny apartment, and she took a moment to savour how clean and tidy it was. Dishes done, laundry washed and put away, dirty clothes in the hamper, carpet vacuumed. Nattie had done a good job.
She rolled over to look at the other woman. Nattie slept naked on her back, covered to the waist in the light blue bedsheet, the 'Princess' signature still clearly visible above her right nipple. The signature was a mark of faux ownership - a prop Trish had used to deepen a fantasy she'd been hired to enact with Nathalie. A harmless bit of theatre. Or at least, that had been true yesterday.
Today, Trish wasn't so sure.
The events of the previous evening had changed things. Maybe it was too much to say the fantasy had become a reality, but the relationship between the two of them had shifted in a fundamental way. Nathalie wasn't merely a client anymore, and Princess was no longer the fake persona of a 'fantasy escort'. That much was certain.
She'd taken Nattie out of her own house in an effort to save her life. Bought her dinner. Punished her in a public park. Brought her back to Trish's apartment and put her to work as a housekeeper. Licked her. Brought herself to orgasm while her pussy dripped onto the submissive woman's face. None of that had been normal. None of that was in keeping with Trish's 'professional' duties.
After that, Nattie had cried. Tears of release. That part was normal; Nattie always cried after a hard-earned orgasm. Trish didn't know the reason and wasn't the type to probe too deeply into the psyches of her clients. Everyone was a little different, and entitled to express those differences as they saw fit. An escort couldn't be too judgmental.
But after that, lying with her head in Princess' lap, Nathalie had cried, too. Tears of grief that sprung from a deep well of misery inside her. She'd lost her daughter, her only child, and there was no easy way forward. She'd whimpered and sobbed and sniffled. She'd wailed at the unfairness of it, and the arbitrary cruelty of her pain.
Nathalie was lost and badly hurt, and looking for an escape from the pain. Somehow Princess was the only one close enough to share with.
Having worked all afternoon to get Nathalie to open up and seek help, Trish found herself unprepared for the depths of sorrow and anguish she was faced with. Minutes turned into hours as Nathalie wept and suffered, but Trish couldn't do more than stroke her hair and face, keep her warm and give her a sympathetic ear. She didn't have any wise words, no magic phrases that would sooth the pain Nathalie was feeling.
But at least they were connecting, woman-to-woman, human to human, and not relying on the artifice of their 'fantasy' relationship. At least this was real, and carried the potential for real healing.
Or so Trish had assumed.
It had been well past midnight when the ache in Trish's lower back became unbearable and Nathalie's crying had faded into murmurs and sniffs. Time to wrap things up for the night.
"Okay...let's get some sleep. We'll take another look at this tomorrow," Trish said in a soft voice
"Yes ma'am."
Ma'am? Even after the heart-to-heart connection, Nathalie was still Nattie?
"Up! We'll find you a toothbrush, and a cloth so you can wash your face," Trish had continued, with more than a touch of Princess' commanding tone. Where had that come from, all the sudden?
"Where will I be sleeping?"
"Right here." It was still too soon to leave Nathalie unsupervised. Too risky, given the pain she was in and her unsettled emotional state.
"Here?"
"Do I have to repeat myself?" Princess snapped.
"No ma'am. Thank you for letting me stay."
Princess sighed and shook her head. "You're sure to get into trouble the moment I take my eyes off you."
"I'm sorry."
Princess had directed, admonished and scolded the other woman through her bed-time preparations, until at last Nattie had fallen into a deep sleep on the left side of the bed. Princess had pulled on some loose lounge pants and a t-shirt and joined her.
Was Nathalie mostly Nattie? Trish had long suspected that Nathalie had a real-life submissive streak. More than any of her other clients, Nathalie would immerse herself so deeply into the fantasy that for a while it became indistinguishable from reality. Beyond that, it had become clear that Nathalie had obeyed Princess' arbitrary and unreasonable commands even between visits - she'd let her pubic hair grow out and refrained from self-pleasure even when Princess wasn't around. It was obvious that Nathalie's submission to Princess was more than a once-a-month or twice-a-month thing.
But the past day had raised an even more pressing question: how much of Trish's personality was actually Princess? Trish had always found her 'Princess' persona an easy one to summon and maintain, but she'd assumed that was because she was a trained actor and well-prepped for the role. Princess was self-centred and bratty and demanding and unreasonable - it was a fun role to play. Almost liberating, in a sense.
But yesterday had been the first time the role had generated real feelings. Powerful lust. Protectiveness. Ownership. Yesterday, Princess had shattered the strict confines of the transactional, client-escort relationship Trish had always maintained. Yesterday, Princess had overruled Trish and claimed Nattie for her own.
So...who was she, really? How much of this was real, and how much was fantasy? Were she and Nattie in a relationship now, or was this something else? Even after a decent sleep, things were no clearer.
With a fingernail, Princess lightly re-traced her signature on Nattie's breast, recalling how eager the other woman was to have it there, to belong to her mistress.
"Mmm...that tickles," Nattie said in a groggy half-whisper.
"You're awake?"
"Yes ma'am, just now. What time is it?"
Princess sat up and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. "Nine-forty."
"We slept late."
"Well, you probably needed it," Princess said.
"Thank you...and for last night as well. It felt good to talk to someone."
Princess nodded, then reached down to brush some stray, brown hair away from Nattie's face. For a while neither of them spoke.
"So...what now?" Nattie said at last.
Princess looked into her eyes. "Are you still planning to kill yourself?"
Nattie looked away. "No...I don't think so."
"You don't THINK so?" Princess allowed an edge to creep into her tone.
"I mean...I was never one-hundred percent sure I was going to. Things just got to be...a little much."
"You should have called," Princess admonished. "Don't I always tell you I'll come when you need me?"
"I'm sorry." Nattie still wouldn't meet her eyes.
Princess stroked her cheek tenderly. A few more moments passed in silence.
"I should have called you," Princess said in a quiet voice. "I should have reached out."
"It's okay. It wasn't your problem," Nattie said.
There was another prolonged silence.
"So...what now?" Nattie asked again.
It took a few moments to realize that Nattie was offering up control, putting the decision in Princess' hands, where it had always been since the start. It was how Nattie preferred it. Princess, too.
"It's time to stop dawdling around in bed. Get up...stand at 'inspect'." Princess said.
"Yes ma'am," Nattie said, the eagerness in her voice scarcely concealed. She slid out of bed and stood straight, feet apart, eyes forward. Naked...and sexy.
Princess swung her legs around, sat on the side of the bed and stretched. She stood and slowly approached her subject, then circled her at a leisurely pace. The redness on her rear end from the spanking had faded overnight; only a couple of small blotches were discernible against the pale skin. When she was standing in front of the shorter woman she looked down at the signature on her breast.
"What is this?" Princess asked, running her finger over the ink.
"Your signature."
"And what does it mean?"
"That...I belong to you?"
"You don't sound very sure," Princess said.
Nattie flushed a lovely shade of pink. "It means I belong to you."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Only when you pay me to visit you, or all the time?"
