"I'm afraid," Derrick said softly as he buttoned his neat black shirt.
"Of Ashton?" Amber's gentle eyes studied the reflection of her master's face. The petite blonde coed lay comfortably sprawled on the bed, watching Derrick as he dressed.
"Of what he'll do to Becky and Liz," Derrick admitted. "I should have warned them. I should have stopped them."
"From what you've told me," Amber sighed, "you did try to stop them. Though it might have been better to tell them the truth instead of just ordering them around. You must have known Becky wouldn't respond well to that."
"The truth?" Derrick scoffed. "I should have told them that John Ashton is a psychic vampire who feeds on pain, humiliation and despair? That he's already destroyed at least one girl?"
"Well," Amber rolled over to lay on her back, "I might have gone with 'abusive son of a bitch' or maybe just 'rapist' and left out all the supernatural clap-trap."
"Supernatural clap-trap?" Derrick growled, his voice resonant with strength and menace.
Amber moaned, her body suddenly quivering. Breathing in ragged, uneven gasps, the blonde coed fought to regain control of herself.
"Just because you can do That," she said when she could finally catch her breath, "doesn't make you some kind of warlock, and just because Ashton taught you how to do it doesn't give him power over you."
Amber lithely pulled herself from the bed and came to stand behind her master, resting her hands on her his shoulders. She could feel the angry tension in his body.
"He only has the power you choose to give him." Amber said gently.
"When did you get so wise?" Derrick asked, favoring his lover with a fleeting smile.
"I've always been like this," Amber teased and added, with sudden gravity, "Don't mistake submissive for weak, Derrick. I think you, and Ashton, will find your lovely Liz is tougher than you think."
"Honestly," Derrick replied, "it's not Liz I'm worried about."
******
"Oh god," Becky muttered, struggling with the laces of her borrowed corset, "why am I doing this again?
"Mostly to get back at Derrick," Liz said with a teasing smile, "for giving you the best orgasm you've ever had."
"No!" Becky snapped, flushing red.
"Sweetie, you passed out," Liz teased. "You had a total, out of body orgasmic experience. I can't decide if I'm jealous of what he did to you or jealous that he didn't do it to me."
Liz smiled as her lover's face grew distant and dreamy. It was one of those rare moments, Liz thought, when she saw the real Becky. Most of the time the younger coed was too wrapped up in the laundry list of expectations put on her by the world, worried about her grades, her job, her friends and society's demands. She worried her breasts were too small, her ass was too big, her hair or clothes or shoes weren't just right. She worried what people thought about her relationship with Liz and desperately tried to define it in some way that made her confused feelings acceptable. Sometimes, in rare moments of passion or clarity or simple relaxation, Liz could see Becky set down those burdens and simply live, being herself without needing to define exactly what that meant. It was the Becky she saw in those moments who Liz loved.
"Now, finish getting dressed," Liz purred, "so we can go to my art teacher's party and have outrageously kinky sex."
******
The door of Professor Ashton's townhouse slid open on Becky's second knock.
"Well, look who it is," Caitlyn purred. The dominatrix was dressed in a short, red silk robe decorated with oriental patterns. Other than the high red heels, she didn't seem to be wearing anything else. Her spiky black hair crowned her head, sharply contrasting with her pale skin.
Caitlyn gave Becky a tight smile as she held the door open, and Becky grinned viciously back as she stepped into the house, Liz following lightly at her heels.
Letting the door shut behind them, Caitlyn turned and gave the pair a frankly appraising look. As she hung up her coat, Becky stared defiantly back. She refused to feel self-conscious in front of this woman, though it took some effort. The tight black stretch pants Liz had insisted she wear clung to every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. The tight corset Becky had borrowed cradled her pert breasts, and she was sure her nipples could be seen through the thin white fabric of her blouse. Becky thought she might as well have just come naked, and she still felt more dressed than Liz. Under her coat, Liz wore a sheer lace bra that completely exposed her full, round breasts, and an equally sheer wrap was tied around her bare hips. Her only other clothing was the black collar Becky had given her, cinched around her neck.
Caitlyn's tight smile spread into a lazy grin. "You two just look delicious. I'm so glad you could come."
"Thanks," Becky replied curtly, trying without much success to reign in her seething dislike of the red-clad dominatrix. She'd only met the woman once, at the BDSM club, but had disliked her instantly, and none of the events of that night had changed that first impression.
For a moment, the two young women simply stared at each other. The sound of footsteps from the hall almost echoed in the uncomfortable silence as two figures emerged from a side room.
"Oh," Caitlyn purred, "here are my boys. You remember Toy."
Caitlyn gestured at the tall, powerfully built black man who stepped to her side. The college football player wore only tight black pants which, as revealing as Becky's, clung to every muscular curse and considerable bulge. A spiked collar encircled his neck. He glared briefly at Becky, then lowered his eyes, standing in stoic silence at his mistress's side.
"And this is my new Pet," Caitlyn continued, gesturing at the second man.
"Gary!" Becky gaped at the sight of her ex-boyfriend. Gary, former friend and lover to both Becky and Liz, stood sheepishly, dressed in tight jeans and a loose white shirt.
"Oh, hi Gary," Liz said brightly.
"Hi, Beck," Gary mumbled, averting his eyes. "Hey, Liz."
