"Are you sure?" Suzannah held the glass of wine just out of reach, making sure Pauline didn't simply take it out of force of habit. Pauline wasn't really sure if it mattered-she'd already gone through this enough times that she couldn't be certain that her excitement was really her own anymore-but she appreciated the gesture. She liked it when Suzannah made her feel safe, even if she knew that in some ways 'safe' was a very mutable concept in a situation like this. Suzannah's dark brown eyes gleamed with temptation, the iris melding into the pupil until it seemed like her stare was a glittering void full of hunger, and Pauline shivered. She didn't know whether it was in fear or anticipation. All she knew was that it was safe for a given value of 'safe', and Pauline wasn't very good at passing up temptation at the best of times.
"Yes," Pauline whispered, casting her gaze down to the ground. A sudden wave of shyness washed over her, and she couldn't meet Suzannah's stare with her own. It often came on her like this, at the moment of decision. She could accept that she wanted this, she could admit it with her voice, but somehow when Suzannah looked into her hazel eyes and smiled it was like she could see just how much Pauline wanted it. How much she craved it. That kind of power made Pauline duck her head down until her bangs hid her eyes and her blush with a honey-blonde veil, giving her the courage to hold her hand out for the glass. "Please," she forced herself to say. The word came with its own wave of pleasure, intensifying the imbalance between them.
Suzannah seemed to get stronger every time, and Pauline felt so deliciously weak by comparison. It almost frightened her, but somehow the rush of nervous adrenaline only heightened her arousal. Pauline felt Suzannah press the glass into her hand, and she knew that it was time.
She took a sip, letting the wine linger in her mouth to get the full effect. It was an excellent Merlot, well-aged with notes of vanilla and plum, and Pauline savored the taste before swallowing. Suzannah could have handed her just about anything, of course; a ten-dollar Zinfandel out of a box would have done the job. But Pauline appreciated the taste of fine wine, the experience of it and not simply the alcohol. That was how it all started, in fact. Everyone had that one hobby they didn't want to give up just because their doctor didn't approve, and Pauline's was less dangerous than most.
Again, for a given value of 'dangerous'. She put the glass to her lips and took another drink.
"How is it?" Suzannah asked, sitting down next to Pauline and leaning back so that her long black hair fanned out in beautiful contrast to the cream-colored sofa. "I found it at the shop on Pike Street, on my last trip out to the city. 'Wine Revolution', something like that? They said it would be worth the money." Suzannah didn't do wine; she was more of a craft beer enthusiast on the rare occasions she drank. But she was willing to lay in a good stock to help Pauline indulge. That was quite flattering, really.
Pauline took another long swallow, trying not to let her impatience make her guzzle. "It's good," she said. "Better than the white last week, and that was a good white." The finish lingered on her tongue as she spoke, a hint of oak from the aging process that made her squirm ever so slightly on the couch with excitement. She was already wet, she realized. Even though there was no chance that the alcohol had begun to affect her so soon, the whole ritual of it all-packing her overnight bag, driving out to Suzannah's little cabin on Lake Hancock, the idle chatter they both indulged in until neither one of them could stand it anymore-it had grown so familiar that her body knew exactly how to respond. Her pussy knew what was coming, and it was ready to let it all happen.
Suzannah smiled. "Good," she said, watching Pauline with tightly-controlled anticipation. "I always like to give you a few pleasant surprises each week." She said it flirtatiously, as though her tongue was curling around the words and giving them a kiss on their way out of her mouth, and Pauline felt a flush of heat pass through her in response. She never thought that being flirted with by another woman would make her feel so alive, so powerless to resist her own arousal, but her weekends with Suzannah had shown her a side of herself that Pauline never knew existed.
Or created it, Pauline thought as she finished her glass. That was a question she sometimes asked herself on the drive home Sunday night, once she spent the morning recovering and felt safe enough to get back on the road. Were these weekends really changing her? She originally thought the answer was no, that it was absurd to imagine that anything they did together could have a permanent effect, but...she spent a lot more of her free time during the week masturbating than she used to. She used her toys more than she remembered. And with her eyes closed, it was very easy to imagine Suzannah holding the other end.
Thinking about it made Pauline squirm on the couch, squeezing her thighs together as she rubbed them back and forth, and she realized the wine was already beginning to have an effect. She could feel her thoughts drifting back to her masturbatory sessions of the last week, remembering her fantasies in every steamy detail, and she realized loosely that it was getting more and more difficult to steer her mind in any other direction. She suddenly noticed Suzannah refilling her glass from a decanter, a decanter that she didn't remember Suzannah getting up to grab from the sideboard. She'd been lost in an eyes-open reverie, thinking about being fucked, and the world around her had simply stopped mattering.
God, that was hot.
Suzannah liked it too. "How are you feeling?" she asked, guiding Pauline's glass to her mouth for another sip. "You're starting to be my good girl again, aren't you?" Pauline felt a wet, sticky surge of pleasure between her legs at the words 'good girl', a distracting pulse of arousal that made her clit throb and her heart race. The adrenaline made it take effect faster, she knew. Her blood was sluicing through her veins, carrying the alcohol along with it, saturating her already-drugged brain with a whole new chemical that reacted synergistically to make her feel...so...
Pauline's head lolled against the couch cushions, and Suzannah had to scoop the glass from her nerveless fingers to prevent a spill. "That's right," Suzannah whispered seductively, her hand smoothing Pauline's forehead. "That's my drowsy little pet. You're slipping away into your special sleep, a waking dream that I control, and it feels so nice. Doesn't it?"
"Yes, Mistress," Pauline said, hearing her words slurring from her lips as though they belonged to someone else. She wasn't quite asleep, not exactly, but her eyes refused to open and her limbs felt so delightfully lazy and it just seemed so much easier to passively accept Suzannah's words as true. She felt a slow, dreamy smile spread across her face as the familiar effects kicked in, embracing them like an old lover as she melted into the warmth and let her body go limp.
It hadn't always been familiar and comfortable, of course. The first time she decided to drink after her doctor put her on alprazolam, it had been fucking terrifying. Her pharmacist told her there could be negative interactions with alcohol, admittedly, but Pauline assumed that he was giving her some kind of boilerplate instruction along the lines of 'don't operate any heavy machinery'. She had been a wine connoisseur for years, she had developed a healthy tolerance for alcohol. She felt confident that she could handle it.
She couldn't. A glass of sauvignon blanc left her slumped over in her chair, not quite drunk to insensate oblivion but definitely not in any kind of state she recognized as conscious. It wasn't like the rare times she'd overindulged; she didn't feel tipsy or buzzed. She felt perfectly passive, completely open and willing to accept any suggestion she was given. And if it wasn't for her friend Iris noticing the way she nodded blankly every time Hal, the organizer of the tasting, spoke to her...she probably would have.
Pauline's vague, drifting reminiscence was interrupted by Suzannah's voice. "Time to take your clothes off, pretty girl," she said, and Pauline's hands floated lazily through the air to comply. They felt like they were moving through thick syrup, and the effort almost exhausted her, but she was able to make herself unbutton her blouse and shrug it sleepily off her shoulders. The bra was easier, even if she did fumble a little with the clasp. Finally, she wriggled out of her jeans and panties together and let herself flop back onto the couch in boneless abandon.
