Alpha Annie

Alpha Annie 3 by Olivia Palmer

(gg, F/Fgg, FFg, F/g, FF, f/f, FF/ff, fdom, ped, cons, bdsm, humil, va, voy, mast, anal, ws, light viol, light drugs, light scat)

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This story is a work of fiction and does not purport to depict any real people, places, or situations. It is entirely fantasy and should be treated as such. This story describes explicit sexual acts between girls, teen girls, and women. If this type of content offends you or if you are not of legal age to view adult content, then do not read it.

Do not repost or redistribute without prior written permission of the author. One copy may be saved for private use, insofar as that use does not extend to personal or financial gain by use of the author's work without consent.

Copyright 2016 by Olivia Palmer, all rights reserved.

Please email the author with comments or questions (or story suggestions!): olivia.octavia.palmer@gmail.com

There we were: sitting in my mom's old car, in front of that high steel double-gate, waiting for somebody on the other end to press a button, and all I could do was stare at my redneck bitch. Couldn't stop.

Her face was turned away. She was looking out her window, breathing in quiet snorts through her snot-clogged nose. The gag in her mouth – my panties, soaked with drool – was still packed in hard and held fast by the small bungee cord I'd pulled from the trunk. Saliva coated her throat and perfect fat breasts, shining in the soft light of the property's secluded entryway. Her nipples were huge, hard, and pink all around from the handling I'd given them lately. Her hands – bound at the wrists by shoelaces – were idly at work between her thighs, gently, absently stroking. One set of fingers spread her lips, the other set strummed lightly. I could hear her sticky, squishy wetness as she absently played with herself. She smelled like girlfunk, like pussy and pits, feet and ass. And cigarettes, of course. The whole car reeked. It was wonderful.

Then another surprise. But I couldn't help it. I caught myself trying to figure out if my redneck bitch was enjoying herself. Beyond masturbation pleasure, obviously. I mean, you know, I wondered if she was happy to be doing this.

With effort, with the kind of discipline only a highly-trained athletic bitch, a top cunt-fucking bitch like me could muster, I stopped. I. Stopped.

I pushed care aside, pushed the sight of her away. I turned from her lush, nasty, perfect picture of submission. I stared out my own window, caught the reflection of a corner of my own face in the side view mirror. One eye, wild, a little red, dancing as it peered back at me. That was the girl I should be worried about – that one in the driver's seat. That one with the leash in her hand, the pussy on fire, and the need to deliver a sweet chubby bitch to Tina.

Time for my fucking offering. Stop worrying about all that soft girlie shit, you dumb bitch. Get ready to get off!

For a moment, really, it felt like I was back to normal. Curling the lip. Snarling at my reflection in the mirror. Time to kick ass and take names. Bitch better be ready to suffer.

Then a female voice warmly announced, "Welcome. You may enter the grounds. Please pull all the way to the front of the house in the circle drive. I will be there to greet you." The gate slowly, silently swung open, and I pulled the car through.

At first I thought we were rolling into one of the new gated communities. Then I realized, looking again at my phone's map, that it was the entrance to a fucking huge private property. Like, twice the size of the neighborhoods around it.

So after five minutes winding our way through groves and gardens and all the nice shit people with money like to show off, we get to the house. It's the typical rich mansion thing. Even had a fountain in front with a bunch of naked women statues showering beneath it, all pressed together, dancing, kissing, a hand slid down low here and there. Lesbian waterworks. Me and my redneck bitch, we just kind of sit and stare at it after I kill the engine. It's lit in soft blues and pinks and yellows, flickers of color following some pattern, the water cascading around the frozen horny ladies like jewels.

A girl appeared outside. For a second she stood at the top of the steps in front of the house, and then she lightly tip-toed down to meet us. She was barefoot and wore a simple t-shirt, big and white and loose, definitely not her own. It hung down to her knobby knees and the head hole was so big on her shoulders that one side hung down almost to her nipple. She was black-haired and mussed-up, like she'd just crawled out of bed. The tips of her hair were dyed a vibrant red, the last three or four inches. With it in a messy cloud like it was, she looked to me like a perfect little punk bitch. I instantly wanted to wrap my hands in that cute hair and cram her face against my aching pussy.

But I played it cool. Didn't want to ruin chances with Tina, you know? I tried not to stare much, just sort of looked at her in glances.

She rubbed at her eyes with her knuckles as she reached the bottom of the steps and padded over to us. She yawned, long, slow, and deep, before she could manage to speak. Her mouth had a ring of red around it, like she'd been chugging cherry Kool-aid. She smiled at me, then lifted a small hand to wave brightly at my bitch. Didn't seem to bother her at all that my redneck slave was gagged with my panties and on a leash.

The girl studied me a little before she talked. I didn't like it, but I figured I was the guest, I was horny, and I wanted to get to Tina. So I let her look me over while I stared at the fountain orgy behind her. I swear one of those statues was fingering another's asshole.

"You must be Annie," she said, her voice sensual and low. "I've heard a lot about you."

That was an adult woman's voice! Same one from the speaker at the gate. I snapped back to full-on stare at the girl now, and I figured it out. That girl was grown. She was not a child, but she sure could have passed for one.

She was in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. She was scrawny, short, skinny, small, petite, itty-bitty – however you'd like to put it. Maybe four-ten? Maybe eighty pounds? Yet she did have some tiny, tasty-looking tits beneath that loose t-shirt, and her calves were muscular and tanned, despite her being so slight. Her toenails were painted black, I guess to match her hair. I looked back at her face and noticed she had smeared makeup around her eyes, a highly destructive dusting of adorable freckles on her cheeks, a ring in the septum of her nose, and a stud through her tongue. And that wasn't a juice stain around her mouth. It was lipstick gone wild. What had she put her mouth around lately?

She was patient with me gawking while she talked. Guess a woman made like an elf with benefits was used to that sort of thing. I saw the edges of a chest tattoo, blacks and curves of red, just peeking above the low curve of the t-shirt neck. I wanted to see more. I'm sure the lady could tell.

"I'm Siobhan," she smiled, her eyes back on my messy, horny, chubby fucktool in the passenger seat. "I see you've brought a friend."

"No," I chuckled, "I brought a tasty treat. That's what I brought."

I reached over and got my redneck bitch's left nipple between thumb and fingers, pulled hard. She moaned into her gag and leaned toward me. I let go and flicked her fat, stiff tit-flesh. She flinched and leaned slowly back.

I looked over at Siobhan. She wore a little smile and continued to stare at my bitch. Looked like she wanted to fucking eat her. Not cool, right? But then I realized I shouldn't care. My redneck bitch's whole purpose was to be stared at and used. What did I care if other women wanted her? Wasn't that why I'd brought her?

Pushing that weird possessive surge down, I went on, "Thought I'd share her with Tina... if she was around...?"

Siobhan opened my door and let me step out. I felt like we were a couple circus freaks, standing there together. Me like the Beanpole Sports Girl and her the Irish Sprite. I went around to drag my redneck bitch out by her leash. Siobhan again held the door, her eyes everywhere on my bitch at once. That small smile.

We climbed the steps with Siobhan in front, allowing me to peek up at her bare ass in the shadows of the t-shirt. She had a gap between her upper thighs as big as my fist, and no hair whatsoever. I thought I caught a glimpse of rings on her pussy, but it was hard to tell. Especially with the distraction of having to pull along my redneck bitch, who seemed to be climbing the steps slowly on purpose, wheezing through her nose and using her bound hands to cover her bare, drippy crotch.

"Come HERE you dumb cow," I growled, yanking hard on the leash once we all got to the top of the steps.

Redneck bitch made a muffled squeak and stumbled forward into me. I caught her and held her tightly up against me, reaching down over the small of her back, down over her ass and into the crack. I wormed a finger into her greasy-feeling asshole, up against the piss-soaked sock I'd shoved into her as a tail. I wiggled the knots of the sock buried inside her rectum. She pushed her face into my chest and moaned.

"Are you ready to be used?" I asked her, low and sexy, making sure Siobhan heard me. She had stopped a few feet beyond us and was once again patiently waiting and watching. Smiling. Hungry. "Are you ready to make me proud?"

My redneck bitch nodded, her soft wonderful-smelling hair just beneath my nose. I kissed the top of her head gently. The first time I'd ever done that. It was like flowers – gardenias, jasmine, something sweet in an evening garden – and my pussy suddenly throbbed at a whole new level. I wanted to squat on my redneck bitch's face and grind until I exploded. I wanted to eat her amazing, delicious asshole. I wanted my tongue So Far Up In There. I wanted to kiss her cigarette-fouled mouth with my knee up hard against her fat cunt, with her tits in my hands, her tears on my cheeks.

I looked over at Siobhan to make sure she was still watching, and I suddenly realized how good that woman's little fist would probably feel working up inside my cunt. My ass. I wondered if she wanted me like that. I caught myself hoping.

How crazy! How horny I was! Hoping for a bitch. The. Fuck. It would be so easy to pick that woman up and throw her inside my athletic bag. Zip it closed, keep her nice and hot inside there for a while. Wouldn't take a second. Toss her in the trunk, drive her away from here. She'd stand no chance.

My lust, my kink, it was turning me into a kidnapper. Just how out of control was I? I needed to come – and hard, and lots, and with mess and with noise and with at least a little taste of ass in my mouth – as soon as possible.

I pushed my redneck bitch roughly back and slapped her slobbery, shiny tits. Left – whap! Right – whap! My hand came down like lightning, fingers fully catching the top of each fat boob just above the nipple, my swing thrusting the flesh down hard, my fingers dragging over and down past the nipple, her tit bouncing back up immediately, red and already puffier with swelling, as she yelped each time, sweet short doggie barks that she was too horny to hold back.

"You should know," the little elf said, stepping toward us and motioning to the eaves of the grand front porch of the home, looming in front of us, "that you've been on camera since you arrived."

I saw the camera. Yeah. OK. "So what?" I shrugged.

"So, you tall gorgeous thing," she purred, then raised her voice, loud enough, I guessed, for the microphone on the camera to pick up, "this proves you're here – both of you – without being forced to be here. Well, at least you are." She poked her chin at me.

"Yeah." I shrugged again. "Duh."

Then she turned and cupped my redneck bitch's own cute little chin lightly in her tiny hand. I fought back the urge to slap it way. To grab her by the throat.

Siobhan didn't notice, or at least she didn't act like she did. "I have a feeling you're here because you want to be here too, right? Is that right? You chose to come? Like this? Nod if you did."

My slobbery, sloppy, pretty little slave nodded. Without hesitation. Good bitch.

"Excellent!" the tiny woman chirped. "Now then," she motioned toward the front double doors, inlaid with exquisite cut glass, forming more coils and undulations of women entwined in ecstasy. The light within the house was dim but warm, yellows and pinks, softly glowing through the glass.

"Let me take you to my mistress."

We followed her onto the broad stone porch, my redneck bitch this time keeping step just behind me.

The doors opened from within, pushed outward by another Amazon like that bull dyke Mags from the bar. This one was a little shorter than me, though, by maybe an inch, but she made up for it in girth. Her chest was even wider and deeper than Mags. She wore black tennis shoes, tight blue jeans, and a lycra-looking black tank top, stretched to its limit across her manly chest. She had no breasts atop the boulders that were her pectorals, but her nipples were huge – easily as big around as my big toe – and they were fully erect and obviously pierced with a fat stud in each. Her bare shoulders and arms were tanned and thickly muscled, with heavy veins running down her biceps and forearms and across the backs of her massive hands. Her head was shaved, and her scalp was completely tattooed in some kind of tribal style, her earlobes spread wide with thick onyx disks. She was much, much prettier than Mags. She still looked every bit like a feminine, sultry woman in the face, and she smiled warmly at us as we passed through into the house. She also had a septum piercing like Siobhan. She smelled like coconut oil and ripe pits.

"Welcome to Tina's," she rumbled. "We've been waiting for you."

I found myself glancing over and over at her hand on the door and wondering, before I even realized it, what it would be like for this big bitch to slap me. Would it hurt worse than Mags? Would she be quicker, meaner? Would she pin me down and do some real damage? I wondered what her skin would taste like if I licked those veins on her arms, if I licked her hands. What would those huge hands feel like closing around my breasts? Cupping my ass? Those thick strong fingers spreading me apart, penetrating me? Filling me. Taking me.

Fuck It ALL, but my pussy ruled my brain. I couldn't stop it. And I couldn't even try to stare her down. Couldn't make eye contact. Couldn't do anything more than steal glances as we passed by.

Shit and fuck and damn. What was going on? I wasn't any better than my redneck bitch all of a sudden. What the hell? Seriously.

But the memory of Mags – of her hand crashing into my mouth, the pain, the blood, the dizzying, sickening numbness in my face – it was too recent, too close. Here was another punisher. Here was another big bitch who could hurt me. And I began to really think she would. Began to think I might like to feel that again.

In a moment of clarity in the midst of my fog, that haze of hormones overwhelming me, driving me forward, I did try to figure it out. What the fuck was happening to me? What was I doing? What was wrong inside of me? Why was I even there?

I seriously, for the first time, began to have real doubts – to fear, more than a little bit, that I'd made a bad choice. Maybe I was the dumbest bitch alive, too stupid for her own good, and I was leading both myself and my helpless little redneck bitch into some very big trouble.

These bitches, even the little one, were in a class above me. These bitches, even if they might be on the bottom, they were on top of me. I could sense it in my bones. It was thick in the air.

I was no longer the top bitch.

Yet my pussy swelled and throbbed even more, and this time with a pounding in my chest to go with it, a ringing of fear in my ears that soared above the rushing of blood, the sharp tightening of my pores, my hair on end, goose-pimpled, stomach flip-flopping, suddenly sweating.

I passed by the pretty Amazon in a daze. In fucking submission.

Yeah. I swallowed hard and had to face it.

I put one foot in front of the other. I led by example. I showed redneck bitch how it was supposed to be done. With my throat seeming to close and harden, this lump in it making me queasy, I suddenly flashed to a similar feeling, so often brought out in me, by Kylie's mom back in the beginning. Back when she owned us all....

Kylie's mom had been huge, too. She was a body builder, competed in pro-ams every few weekends. She even wrestled sometimes, because she was really feminine despite her muscles and deep voice, and it made her a lot of money on the side. And she kicked ass. She was fucking merciless. We were all in awe of her – Kylie, naturally, but my mom and I were, too. She was a goddess. Not all that tall, just a bit beyond five-foot-seven, but she towered over my shorter, slimmer mom, and of course Kylie and I had been just little elementary brats. To us, Kylie's mom might as well have been ten feet tall.

She had put her hands on me in the roughest, sweetest ways. She had jammed her fingers so sweetly, so mercilessly into me, and she had made me come much harder than any eleven year-old was supposed to come.

She had seen in me, after months and months of owning my body and soul, a kindred spirit. It happened by accident.

She'd discovered me squatting over Kylie, who I'd tied down in Kylie's own kitchen after school one day. We'd thought our moms were still over at my house, where they usually were every afternoon, waiting for us to come home and play with them. This was before our homeschool years, of course, before we got truly serious about our daily debaucheries as a foursome. Kylie and I sometimes took a side trip, told them we had a club after school. We'd walk to Kylie's house instead.

Kylie let me do things to her, secrets we'd kept from our moms, even long after we'd all begun to fool around – because, you know, that made it more exciting. Simple, really.

That day we were up on the table. She was tied with plastic shopping bags (really handy as impromptu "ropes", once you knot a couple together) by her wrists and ankles to the four legs of the little table in the breakfast nook. I had slid seven stainless steel teaspoons inside Kylie's pussy, and there was an unpeeled green banana most of the way into her tiny ass. The nipples on her flat chest were held rigid by wooden clothespins.

I'd smeared peanut butter on her bare feet. The dog, every now and then, would rise up and lick her feet like crazy, and wow – did she squirm!

I was pissing in short squirts into my playmate's mouth, making her drink it all and not spill a drop. It was one of our favorite private games. Kylie always loved how dirty it made her feel. And she loved how special, how close to me, it made her feel. Weird, right? We'd been doing it off and on for nearly a year.

Her mom had watched us from the other end of the kitchen, behind me, out of sight. She'd walked the two blocks over from my house because they'd run out of weed. When she wasn't working out or fucking, that was pretty much all Kylie's mom wanted to do. Smoke. And, well, drink tons of booze. But damn did she work it off. Like, six hours a day!

She watched us for a long time. Later she told me that, right then and there, she knew I was a proper, powerful top-in-waiting. So she let us finish. After that, after I'd climbed down off the table and leaned down to french kiss Kylie's piss-tasty mouth, she punished us. Because we weren't allowed to play like a top and a bottom without her permission.

We were all bottoms. Her subs. Her slaves. So we were made to pay. My mom was called to come over and help.

There was a lot of dragging by the hair. There was a cold shower for both of us, then I received full bladders from my mom and Kylie's mom, whenever they had to go, for the rest of the night.

I was made to lie in their piss, in the tub, until the next morning. I was taped-up, tied in this sort of ball, and left on my back. My wrists were duct-taped behind my thighs, my bent knees pulled toward my chest. Kylie's mom took a broomstick and slid it beneath my scrawny calves, against the backs of my knees, and taped the stick down across the top of the tub. I was stuck.

The stinking weed- and booze-laced urine eventually filled all the way up to my chin, running into my ears. I was helpless. Terrified. Thrilled.

Once I was secured, there were at least a dozen full swirlies in the toilet for Kylie. Then her mom peeled that banana – plus three more – and shoved them deep inside her narrow ass, making her hold them inside all night.

She was kept on her knees in the bathroom, next to where I was stuck, lying in piss, in the tub. Her arms were crossed behind her back, tied together with the plastic shopping bags from our kitchen play. She was made to keep her face inside the toilet bowl, her hair floating on the water, her nose just touching the surface, her neck held down by duct tape stretched across the seat and stuck down to the sides of the bowl. Every now and then her mom would flush. Kylie squeaked and squirmed, terrified the water might finally refill too high.

Kylie's mom told her dad that both of us were sick. We "had the runs" and would be spending most of the night in the bathroom on that end of the house. His dumb ass, of course, fell for it. And, limp dick that he was, he stayed far away from the frightful thought of sick little girls. Went to stay at my house. Played cards with my dad.

My mom, of course, had already come over to help "take care" of me. By pissing on me every hour or so. By stinking her fingers in my pussy and ass whenever Kylie's mom told her to. By sliding her face under Kylie's bare, dripping pussy and eating her to the edge of coming, once an hour, just so her mom could see if she really could hold in that mass of banana.

It was a night I won't ever forget, no way, no doubt. It was the night before Kylie's mom began to teach me all about taking charge. Before I learned how to control a bitch. Before I was hooked.

But I'll admit it – I also never forgot what it had been like to serve. Helps a domme understand her slave better, anyway, right? And sure, I got really good at ignoring the memories most of the time, pushing them down. Making like I was pure alpha, mega-alpha, ultra-alpha, whatever the baddest top bitch in the world could be – but there was still a girl in me. There was still a small, cunt-hungry, come-needy, skinny little bitch who had been handled. Who had been put beneath a strong hand.

Sometimes I felt a strange need for it again, just like it was only yesterday and I was still eleven, tied and lying in piss, a stronger woman's fingers jamming two at a time in my holes, making me ashamed, making me come whether I wanted to or not.

It was all coming back to me, and I was getting so wet it was silly. I could feel the insides of my thighs as I walked past the Amazon. They were slick and smelly, the wetness halfway down to my knees.

Passing by the giantess in the doorway, unable to meet her eyes, I knew what was probably going to happen. Sooner rather than later, knowing my luck. I had to figure out – quickly – how much I wanted to fight it. Did I even want to?

How much of me, the top bitch, would still be around after it was all over? Would I really break? Would I even care, in the end, if I did?

My mom was sure as fuck happy. Kylie had been, too, while we were still together. And Josie? And Mrs. Oliveira? They panted like worthless giddy bitches to have me do whatever depraved shit I wanted, whenever I wanted to do it. They smiled and thanked me. And my redneck bitch? Are you kidding? She couldn't, wouldn't, stay away. She loved it so much she'd gone along right with me, with whatever I'd wanted, no matter what I'd wanted.

There she was, trailing close behind me, eyes wide open, staring at the floor. She was clueless, naked, bound, gagged, degraded. She was flushed all over and trembling, right then and there. She was more excited than I'd ever seen her, and yet she was this insect in the world, this bug, this stain. And loving it.

Was that going to be me soon, too?

The foyer was big as fuck. I know that's not exactly literary, me storytelling like a moron and all, but that's what it was. Big. As. Fuck. Like, "Gone With the Wind" sized.

Staircases rose on either side of the massive room, a hundred feet away from the front door, clinging to each wall and rising to the third floor. A second floor mezzanine kind of parlor thing could be seen beneath the third floor landing. There were couches, a bar – maybe a dozen pulls – some video games off to the side in the shadows. Looked like a cool party room, but all the lights up there were off. Seemed like some smoke from a cigarette or cigar or something was hazing shit up in there, though. Maybe a hookah-bitch in genie pants and free-swinging tits? Gilded pasties and a slutty little veil? Who the hell could rule it out, in a playroom like that?

We kept trudging on. Siobhan took the lead. My slave was right at my heels, her cute little feet padding quietly along. Bitch was clearly a bit more curious than afraid at that point – she was busy looking everywhere at once, just like me. I didn't bother to yank her leash a single time. Who could fucking blame her? Awe is awe. Sort of overwhelms other concerns. At least at the beginning.

On the ground floor of the foyer was another fountain, right in the center. A statue of a woman on her back, tied to a large round-ish boulder, her ankles bound to her wrists down on either side of the rock, her head thrown back, her knees open. Another woman – beside her, above her – leaned over the bound bitch, her face inches above the captive's open, panting mouth, either just finishing a kiss or just beginning one – or maybe just whispering cruel, loving words. In one of the standing woman's hands was a long, wickedly twisted flogger. Her other hand was between the slave's legs, fingers deep in her pussy, a thumb pushing up between the fat swollen lips, pressing against a massive clit pushed just to one side, large enough for me to see from halfway across the room. A warm amber light fell right on it, and also right on the slave's firm breasts, her fat stiff nipples, on her throat, on her mouth. The domme was backlit, her face, her front, in shadow.

It was all about the suppliant. It was fucking perfect.

Water circled around them. They were on an island surrounded by a shallow tinkling stream about four feet wide on either side. The stream emerged from beneath the wall on the left of the foyer and continued, meandering around various boulders of different sizes, until it broke around the statues and the largest boulder in the center of the room, then it continued winding around other, smaller river boulders until it disappeared beneath the wall on the right. A wide, gently arched stone bridge traversed the stream on either side.

There were portraits on the walls – women and girls of all ages, shapes and sizes, in poses of innocence and poses of ecstasy. Classical shit, modern shit. Tons of artsy fine bitches on the walls, horny as fuck, wicked as fuck, crazy as fuck.

Fucking perfect!

A broad circular chandelier hung far above the statues on the little island, and I imagined hidden within it were some of the powerful directed spots augmenting their seductive spectacle. High above the chandelier, at the top of the fourth story of the house, was a vaulted ceiling of exposed trusses, thick and strong, painted white, skylights slanting above, dominating the space between each of the rafters. It would certainly be bright and beautiful in the foyer during the day.

The floor was a natural stone, sandy-colored, smooth and perfectly fit together. A medium-sized apple tree grew just a little bit beyond the two statues, its loamy bed cradling soft ferns and some slumbering flowers. The scent of apples was wonderful. A soft cinnamon, clove, and ginger fragrance wafted warmly over, under, and around that of the apples. Not so heavy to overwhelm, but not so light as to seem pointless. It was just right. Just like everything else in that gorgeous room.

We crossed one of the low bridges. We went to the back.

And shit was about to take a turn.

At the far end of the foyer were two hallways and five doors. Down the hall on the left was darkness, and I could only dimly make out another large room a short ways beyond the foyer, all the lights off. Like a big-ass ballroom, there wasn't any furniture or any other shadowy shit in there, it seemed to be wide open and empty.

There was a wide, closed door to the left of the left hall, with light shining out from under it. Scents of cooking came from that direction, like a curry but fruity, and I could hear the soft clanks and bumps of a kitchen at work. At almost midnight? Who the hell was hungry? There was me and my bitch, the Amazon, following us a few dozen steps behind, and Siobhan leading the way.

If there were more people in this house, they sure were quiet! Or maybe just far away? Tucked away? Tied up? Tied down?

Between the left and right hall were three closed doors. To the right of the right hallway was another closed door. All five doors were made from richly stained dark wood. Only the door on the far left showed light beneath.

Siobhan led us into the corridor on the right, her bare feet padding almost silently as the flagstones of the foyer transitioned to wood. Sconces on either side of us lit softly, warmly, as we approached and passed. Small electric lights recessed up high near the ceiling, shaped like candles, illuminating more paintings of sexy women and girls as we followed our hot-assed little guide.

At the end of the hallway was another wide door. Just before it, branching off to the right, was a short hallway with another wide door, dim light shining underneath. Sounds of laughter, splashing, and moaning could be heard echoing beyond.

"Bath house," Siobhan explained, not even glancing over. She kept moving forward, opening the door ahead of us.

We stepped through and – well, neither me nor my redneck bitch could help it – we stopped. Stared. And me, I swore.

"Holy fuck!" And then, after swallowing hard, I added, "You gotta be fucking kidding me!"

We stood at the entrance to a deep, wide backyard wonderland. It extended at least three or four hundred feet ahead of us and two or three times that length to either side. Water, strongly flowing narrow rivers, carved their way around and about more islands, and many, many more statues. There was a large pool to our right, another to our left, and a third, much larger pool, off in the distance farther on the left.

That one had a beach on the near and the far shore, and a big island in the middle with a gazebo and another statue of entwined lovers that I couldn't quite make out in detail. Soft lights under the gazebo shone down on what looked like a pair of nude women making love on a low futon, mutually eating pussy, in a classic sixty-nine. On the other side of the statue was a circular sitting area, open to the sky, with a fire pit in full flame. Around it slowly danced nine or ten naked women of all shapes and sizes. Drumbeats gently thrummed and throbbed from that direction. There was humming, wordless singing, chants, cries of song. Moaning. Mewing.

What the fuck? Hippies? Witches? Pagan goddess sexfest ceremony?

"That's just the Saturday Swap Meet," Siobhan told us, grinning at my obviously stupid-looking face.

She motioned us to follow her again, leading us straight ahead, around another statue. This one looked like Aphrodite rising out of the shell, surrounded by naked little angel girls slurping on each other's pussies, assholes, and armpits. One nymphet statue seemed to float just beside the goddess, her mouth in full suckle at her breast, her little hands cupping it on either side. Another nymphet seemed to float near her waist, a small hand thrusting up between the thighs of the deity of love, her other arm reaching back over the slim curve of her tiny ass, one finger slipped inside her own little asshole. Aphrodite's head was thrown back, just a little, and her eyes were half-closed in emerging ecstasy. One of her hands rested lightly upon the head of the suckling nymphet. The other hand tweaked the fat nipple of her free breast.

Peeking back as we rounded the statue, I saw another nymphet seeming to float just behind the statue, her shoulder pressed lightly low against one cheek of the goddess's generous round ass, her open mouth gnawing on the flesh at the back of her hip. A slender arm was inserted up to the elbow between the deity's cheeks, obviously deep-fisting her holy rectum. With her other hand the nymphet was fingering herself.

"Fuck!" I said, stopping to stare. My redneck bitch bumped into me and stopped with a short squeal. Siobhan had stopped as well, turning patiently and letting me ogle the mythsex in stone.

"That's hot," I finally muttered. Lame as fuck.

I felt flushed. Feverish. I knew I was glowing red all over. The statue was absolutely hot. It was scorching fucking flaming molten center-of-the-sun hot. Everything at that place was like it was geared to soak my shorts, make me seep, make me want to crash my thighs together. Make me want to come where I stood.

And I really think I could've. Just slam my thighs together, scissor them a little, wiggle my hips, and boom! But Siobhan was pissing me off. Staring at us. Smiling that wolf's hungry grin. Looking so fucking edible in that loose t-shirt and bare legs and feet.

She looked so in charge. She was so in charge.

The Amazon came up right behind us. An inch behind my redneck bitch. She towered over her like a demi-goddess, herself. She was smiling, just as hungry as Siobhan. Her powerful fingers were flexing, her huge arms loose and ready at her sides. She swayed a little as she crowded us. Her coconut-oiled skin and natural body odor – days-old sweat, pit-funk, cunt-funk, you name it – surrounded us like a sickly-sweet fog. My redneck bitch scooted forward as if she wanted to burrow inside me. I slipped an arm around her and held her close.

I didn't challenge that big bitch. I couldn't. Pissed as I was to be dominated like that, I knew I had to accept it. If I didn't, I was going to have some major pain put right on me.

"Come on now," Siobhan gently insisted, leading the way once again. We walked around a large circular gazebo. Three figures sat in the shadows smoking. Cloves. Pot. One of them was smaller than Siobhan. And naked. I could hear the sticky, slick sounds a pussy being tenderly used. The little one. The women on either side of her were smoking, watching. The girl had a leg draped over a woman's thigh on either side. She held a joint in one hand. Her other was down at her crotch. Making those sounds. Making love to her little self.

A voice. One of the women. "Well, hello..." low and sleepy. The little girl giggled. None of them stopped what they were doing.

"Ladies," Siobhan called out with courtesy, nodding in their direction. "Gretchen..." The little girl giggled again.

We passed them and crossed over a low stone bridge to the other side of the stream. It was like an endless river at a water park, a strong slow current obvious even in the moonlight, waist-deep or maybe even more, about eight feet across. A few steps beyond the bridge, we stood at the entrance to a high hedge row. A maze.

"Seriously?" I muttered, then cleared my throat, glancing at Siobhan as she turned toward me. She gestured at the opening.

"Yes," she purred. "A maze. The sooner you find the exit, the sooner you can meet my mistress."

I couldn't stop it. I rolled my eyes. A fucking maze. Was the goddamn goblet of fire up in there? Some evil witch waiting to pounce? Magic dildos ready to zap us?

I was giddy. Horny. Afraid. Overturned. My head spun and my brain didn't obey my instincts. I snorted. I shook my head and chuckled.

Siobhan's smiled tightened, but she still said, so sweetly, "Now you can lead the way."

Tugging on my redneck bitch's leash, I rebelled. Just slightly. I put her in front.

"No," I said. "If you don't mind, I'd like my bitch to sniff this one out."

Siobhan nodded. Almost respectfully. Fuck yeah.

I prodded my slave gently in the back with two fingers. When she didn't move forward right away, I swung my hand around hard and smacked her fully on her sweet round ass. She yelped behind her gag and pranced ahead, entering the maze.

"That's it," I crooned. "Good girl."

It was a delicious sight, my bitch's amazing round ass right there in front of me, her cute little bare feet on tiptoes, wandering this way and that on the short, soft grass as she tried to figure out which way to go. She stank in the best way, her scent wafting over me continuously as we went along. Behind me, I heard the Amazon grunt in approval, much more than once, as she too enjoyed the view and the fragrance of my redneck bitch playing the hound.

Eventually we came to a large gazebo. At the center was a cylindrical enclosure with one curved door. The Amazon stepped forward, producing a key, and unlocked it. Siobhan motioned for me to open it, and I did, swinging it out toward us. A dim light shined down upon a circular staircase that descended into a brick tube, painted white, ending maybe twenty or thirty feet below. Even from above I could see a tunnel leading off beyond, beneath the far edge of the maze.

"This is the entrance to my mistress's dungeon," Siobhan said, motioning again. "Please watch your step."

Once again, I couldn't help it. I snorted. How fucking silly. A real dungeon? Really? And underground? Shit like that wasn't real. I shook my head.

My redneck bitch looked at me then. Her eyes were wide. She was excited. Afraid. Worried. For herself? For me? Because I was being a dumb teenage snot to these women who could clearly do us harm? Because we were about to go Under The Fucking Ground? Because, yeah, think about it Annie, you hormone-addled lamebrain: where the fuck were we really going to end up?

We had no idea.

My redneck bitch was obviously thinking about at least one or all of those things. All at once. She shivered, looking from me to the circular stairs. She was up against me again, burrowing. Once again, I was hugging her to me, smelling her soft flowery hair, kissing the top of her pretty head.

A lump began to grow in my throat. I was truly a stupid bitch.

Finally I moved. I went first, my slave following right on my heels. Siobhan came next. She was barely smiling at all now. She was stiff, tense, obviously restraining herself. Behind us, above us, the Amazon loomed like a giantess at the top of the stairs. Her bulk blocked out almost all of the light in the tight tube as we turned and turned and turned our way down the tricky metal steps. We descended in near-darkness, thanks to that she-hulk.

Between my redneck bitch's sweet stink and the Amazon's, though, the close quarters was an aromatic heaven. From below and above I was surrounded by all my favorite odors – ripe ass, sweaty pits, hot pussy, dirty feet – and I had to admit, it made me feel a lot better. Snapped me back to reality, to why I was there. I was horny. I was So Very Horny. I wanted to fuck. I wanted to be fucked. I wanted I wanted I wanted.

What can I say? I'm a twisted bitch. Thought you knew that.

We got to the bottom of the spiral staircase and started down a long, low tunnel. The walls were painted white bricks, the ceiling was tightly-fitted wooden planks, also painted white, with thick posts and beams every dozen feet or so. Lights were hung high on the walls at regular intervals, brightening a little as we approached, then dimming to nearly nothing after we'd passed. Every now and then we passed white wooden doors, closed and silent.

Turning sharp left, we finally ended up at double doors, white like the rest. I expected torches or smoldering coal in braziers up on little wall-mounted pedestals, Indiana Jones style. It was that weird. A real fucking dungeon. Really?

Yeah.

Siobhan stepped forward and motioned to the Amazon. "Sal, if you please." The hulking dyke again produced a key. Then she pulled on the doors, stood back, and Siobhan led us inside.

The ceiling was high – probably close to twenty feet up – and it was done in the tea tray style of an old pub, with exposed thick beams running perpendicular to one another at regular intervals. Maybe a dozen sturdy circular pillars ran up to meet the beams. Most of those had steel rings drilled into them, one each on opposite sides of each pillar near the floor, another one on opposite sides of each pillar about seven feet up. For chaining slaves. You could fit two on a pillar, or you could fit one, either stretching her arms and legs back around the pillar a little bit, or else she could hug it. Lights were mounted at the tops of the pillars. The room was bright, cool, and vast. Another circular staircase rose toward the ceiling in the farthest corner from where we stood.

The walls, the floor, the pillars, the ceiling – they were all white or nearly white. Like the tunnel. Colors came in the form of silks hung here and there from the steel rings. There were no paintings on the walls, but there were at least a dozen large flat screen televisions mounted on them all around the large room, contributing both color and context. I saw bitches in agony. Bitches in ecstasy.

One young thing was on a padded leather-looking sawhorse, on her belly, her hands and feet tied beneath it. Her mouth was gagged with a plastic ball, a strap wrapped around her face and behind her head. Her nostrils were pulled up and out by a two-pronged little brass device that had its own strap running up the bridge of her nose, between her eyes, and back over her head to connect with the other strap. A fit silver-haired woman, dressed in a smart gray business suit, was steadily smacking the girl's ass, back, and outer thighs with a riding crop. The girl – maybe a teen, maybe a little younger – was sweating like crazy, weeping, moaning. But she was also steadily grinding her pussy into the sawhorse with each new thwack! of the crop. Between wracking sobs, she rolled her eyes and strained at her bonds, clearly caught between the pain and the pleasure.

On another television was a fat young woman, maybe twenty or a little older, lying on her back in the mud, somewhere outdoors in the moonlight. Another woman, tall and thin, slogged over to her in the ankle-high muck and squatted over the fat woman's face. She paused for a few minutes, as if she was settling in. But then, duh, it hit me: she was feeding her. Eventually the tall woman's ass sank so low and hard on the fat woman's face that there was some obvious smothering going on. The fat woman's feet kicked and twitched in the mud, but her hands remained motionless at her sides. Finally, the woman on top began to ride the face beneath her, scooping up handfuls of mud and smearing them all over the sub's round, soft body. Eventually she leaned forward and began to shove the mud up into the other's crotch. The fat woman writhed and arched her back, moaning as the woman on top worked a mud-slimed hand all the way up inside her. Whether in her pussy or ass, I had no idea, but the fat woman began to come with mounting shrieks of joy. The woman on top cursed at her nonstop. Just as her sub was clearly about to hit the highest peak of her orgasm the domme let loose a flood of fresh piss on her face. The fat woman's entire body went rigid, then jerked violently through the rest of her come.

A third television showed the inside of a bath house, three inter-connected pools and surrounding tile floors occupied by a scattering of pairs and small groups of women and girls in various stages of kissing, fingering, fucking. On yet another television were lesbian hippies dancing around a fire pit. On another, a nude skinny girl was fingering herself and smoking a joint while women on either side sucked her tiny nipples. The rest of the televisions were turned off.

So, OK, I'm not normally a stupid cow. But the night had turned. We were in a real fucking dungeon. We were being guarded by a sprite and a giant. I asked the obvious question. It was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"Are these live TVs? Is this shit happening here? Like, right now?"

Siobhan chuckled a little and shook her head, smiling at me once again. But not in such a nice way. She motioned us toward the center of the huge room.

Every now and then there were drains in the tiled floor. Scattered all around were several types of equipment. I swear there was a doctor's examination table, with stirrups and everything. And a well-appointed padded birthing chair, even with a surgical lamp looming above it. There were various kinds of benches, sawhorses, and raised tables that looked more like something from a tool shed. The tables had steel posts and bars and all kinds of contraptions on or around them. Several pneumatic machines with long rods sticking out of them were stationed near benches and a few of the strange tables. There was a five gallon bucket in front of the birthing chair.

My stomach flipped. Flopped. What the fuck.

A large section of one wall was taken up by a series of closed cabinets with glass fronts, lit from above, within. I could see floggers, whips, straps, gags, blindfolds, cuffs, shackles, harnesses – all sorts of freaky bondage shit – hanging in those cabinets. There were dildos and butt plugs of all shapes and sizes on shelves, too. There were hoods, masks, a clown wig. I am not joking. Freaky. Shit.

One whole section of cabinet had what looked like stainless steel surgical equipment in it, pliers or forceps or whatever, along with clamps, little scalpels, hooked sharp things of various sizes and lengths, strange silvery cylinders tapered at one end but fatter on the other, bending a little, in a set of a dozen increasing diameters. There was a speculum collection that would make a gynecologist jealous. There were glittering skewers, too, along with long thin needles that looked like the acupuncturist from hell had ordered them.

Siobhan stopped us in front of a big black wooden X, thickly padded with rich black leather and mounted on a rolling base. The bottom of the X was hinged, and behind it I could see the thing was being held upright by a smart arrangement of stout braces that were bolted on locking hinges to the base. There were straps at the top and bottom of each arm of the X, clearly meant for ankles and wrists. There was a longer strap at the intersection, I guess to go around the torso.

On one side of the big X was a low black leather couch, really a long padded bench, with no back or arms. On the other side of the X was a deep U-shaped padded stool, also black. On floor next to the stool there was a short stack of fat, soft towels. Black. Of course.

Sal the Amazon stalked away beyond us, toward a long bar at the far end of the room. She dug around behind it and straightened back up with two bottles. Once the caps were off she brought them back. One for Siobhan, one for her. Milky-white, cloudy liquid behind green glass. Some kind of sake, by the look of the label. Nigori. Sal downed hers in a quick series of deep gulps. Siobhan took only a slight bit more time with hers. Sal handed over her empty bottle, and they exchanged a look.

Then Sal reached out and grabbed me.

Shit.

Her hands were hard and did not give. One gripped my wrist, her fingers completely encircling it, squeezing steadily. I somehow managed to keep hold of my bitch's leash, but I could feel my fingers already growing numb. The other gripped my throat, pushing up beneath my chin. I flinched at first, thought about jumping away, but there would be no point to that. I was caught. I was caught good. One of her fingers was pressing just behind my earlobe, near where my jaw was hinged. I felt nauseated. My knees nearly gave out.

Fuck.

My redneck bitch squealed and tried to back away, but I still held her leash in my deadening hand. She got to the tight end of it and it began to choke her. She stumbled and fell backward. Somehow the strap dropped from my fingers before it really did some damage. But I didn't need to worry. Siobhan had set the bottles down in an instant on the couch and had leaped behind my slave, catching her, lowering her gently to the cold white tiles.

She removed the strap from around my bitch's neck. She removed the shoelaces from my bitch's bound wrists. She removed the bungee cord and pulled the panties out of my bitch's mouth.

My fucking leash. My fucking shoelaces. My fucking panties.

Hell. My fucking bungee cord.

"What the fuck?!" I croaked. Sal squeezed a little harder. I felt my voice box pinned hard. I wasn't sure I could even breathe.

"Relax," cooed Siobhan, but not to me. She was on her knees, her legs folded beneath her, and had my redneck bitch's head in her lap.

She bent over my slave.

My slave. Mine.

She bent over her and let her black hair with its sexy red tips fall all around my bitch's face. She was whispering to her. A lot. Her hands moved to my bitch's round, beautiful, bruised tits. Found the nipples. Palms rotating flat, clockwise, then counter-clockwise, back and forth. And still whispering.

And I was still held. Helpless. Barely breathing.

I realized I was on my toes. Sal had pulled me up by the neck that much. My free hand was hanging limply down beside me. I wondered for a moment if I should fight back. Really hit her. Try to break the hold. But then it was like the huge pretty dyke read my mind.

"Twitch even a little bit, you fucking cunt," Sal growled at me, narrowing her sultry eyes, "and that little love tap from Mags is gonna feel like nothing compared to what I'll do. I promise you."

She flexed her fingers around my throat with expert care. "Now," she went on, "just be still and let me do my fucking job."

From my strained position a little above her, held by the throat like I was, I couldn't even nod. I just held still. Up close, I got a great look at the tribal tattoos on her bald head. But they were swirling, swimming before my eyes. I was dizzy. I was tunneling. Sal's fingers were doing something new. Blackness crept in around the edges of my vision. My ears seemed to ring a little, then a little louder, then fuzziness, muffling, and a strange white kind of silence.

I was passing out. Damn it!

It wasn't until I felt the piss flood out of me that I knew I'd actually done it. I'd lost consciousness. I was urinating hard, hammering the crotch of my practice shorts with a torrent of hot full-bladder rain. I shook all over, all the way up to my neck, and it hurt to try and hold it still in Sal's grip. My legs gave out and she let go of my wrist, thrusting a hand up into my armpit instead, holding me upright as I finished my gushing accident all over my legs and feet and the tiles beneath me. Probably all over Sal's expensive tennis shoes, too.

My neck felt better, at least. Couldn't say the same about my pride. Fucking embarrassing. Fucking ridiculous. But also, I guess, really fucking hot for at least one person in the room.

I dimly heard a gasp. Then movement. I felt a body between my tap-dancing feet. A body between my useless knees, spreading them farther apart. A face pressing against my crotch. A mouth gnawing lightly at my shorts. Gathering my last spurts of piss as they drained through the fabric. Sucking. Slurping.

My shorts were dragged down and off my body. My shoes were pulled off and thrown aside. A mouth was on my toes. First one foot, then the other. A tongue licking my feet. Tasting my piss-soaked and sweat-reeking feet. Licking between my toes. Nibbling. A mouth closing over all five at once. Sucking. Slurping.

Then a mouth was on my ankle, licking up to my knee. Licking up my thigh.

Then the mouth was on my pussy. Just like that. A tongue working into my swollen, piss-drenched cunt. Sucking. Slurping.

I jerked like I'd been shocked. Couldn't help it. The force of it radiated up into my neck, and I thought for a second I might break it in the Amazon's merciless grip. But she knew how to handle a bitch. I could thrash a little if my body needed to. My spasmed responses to the mouth working so sweetly on my dripping, needy pussy, they weren't going to kill me. Sal kept her other hand hard up under my armpit. She kept me upright. She let me flail and mew as an orgasm almost instantly rocked me. Hard.

The mouth had clamped around my clit. The lips went hard and pinned it above and below. Pushed it out farther. Oh fuck and Oh Fucking God. The tongue started to flick. To thrum. To hum over my fat, hungry clit. Ten billion trillion miles an hour. Ten trillion billion surges of bright hot electrical orgasm energy rocked me all at once.

Somehow – despite the hand so hard around my throat, despite my chin pushed up hard and my mouth forced closed – I screamed. I went stiff. My eyes rolled back. I had a seizure-come. Best I can describe it. And yes that's a fucking thing. And it sucks. But in sort of the best way anything can suck, I guess.

And yes, that's crazy. And sorry, but that's what happened. I'm just telling you how it all went down. You can get off on some other bitch's story if my shit's too intense for you. I don't fucking care.

It was terrifying how hard that mouth made me come.

My whole nervous system felt completely out of my control. I was totally loose and utterly tight at the same time. My brain clicked off-on, off-on, and there were flashes of colorful bursting light inside the black middle of my head. Then on one side only. That's were my rolled, locked-up eyes were looking. Locked on.

I went rigid and ragged all at once. I felt my come-water spurting out of me in powerful, hot jets.

Then everything just kind of, well, slid. Then I was unconscious again for a bit. Then I was on the floor.

My redneck bitch was beside me, kissing my face, whispering my name. She held my hand like I was in the fucking hospital. When I finally opened my eyes I looked instantly right into hers. She was weeping. She was smiling.

My first words: "Was that you?"

She shook her head. Blushing. Regretful. Her mouth went tight and small. Her chin tucked in.

No. It wasn't my own bitch who brought me off so hard, so deep.

"It was Siobhan."

The tiny woman was kneeling between my legs. She pushed my knees apart. I was still weak. Disoriented. Dizzy. My arms and legs were noodles. My brain was a flickering, half-shorted fuse. I didn't resist.

An object pressed against my pussy, slowly got worked into my sloppy vagina. I was filled up with something fat, hard, and smooth. It was the Nigori bottle, bottom up.

Next was my anus. One. Two. Three. Four. Siobhan's slender fingers worked me. Opened me. I was sloppy there, too. Soaked. Slippery. Soon the fat end of the other Nigori bottle was sliding inside my ass. My heavy shit, that burger from Donna's from a thousand years ago that afternoon, lay firm and unyielding against the end of the bottle. Only about half of it was really up in me, and that made it even worse. Or better? The fattest part of the bottle was stretching my anal ring. I felt wide open.

For a moment I thought I might need to worry about that. Glass inside me. In my fucking rectum. In my tender pussy.

Then Siobhan's mouth was on my clit again.

Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck.

It wasn't worry. It was terror. What if I seized up again? What if I clenched too hard?

Sal squatted beside my head. Leaned over me.

"Hold still and have another come, you dumb cunt," she rumbled down at me. "You can't bust those bottles with a weak pussy like yours. With that weak shit hole. Just calm the fuck down and enjoy it. Get some energy out. Let it loose."

But I wasn't that dumb. Goddamn it. That was fucking glass. Empty glass bottles! What kind of fucking chance were they taking with me? Those bitches were insane!

I tried to squirm away, to kick. Something. Anything. But Sal leaned down and put her huge hard hands on my shoulders. I wasn't going anywhere. Siobhan easily fought off my flailing attempts to kick her free.

Finally, I gave up and let her eat me. I had to. She munched on my clit once again, but this time she was slowly working the two fucking glass fucking bottles back and forth – just an inch or two at a time – and working them in perfect rhythm. I would not last long.

An instant before the clenching really rocked me, before the spasms took over completely, Siobhan firmly and smoothly pulled the bottles out. First ass. Then pussy.

I screamed again as I came. I squirted all over the tiny torturer, drenching her from face to floor.

"Nice," Sal observed, letting go of my shoulders. She stood and helped Siobhan to her feet. The small woman still held the two sake bottles in her hands. She leaned over me and pressed one against my mouth. I smelled my shit.

"Open," she commanded.

I turned my face away. This was where I would break. Siobhan knew it.

She kicked me lightly in the cunt. Fuck that hurt! I gasped, curled up my knees toward my chest, and tried to roll away. But Sal put her big foot down on my shoulder. Her tennis shoe smelled like piss.

I wasn't going anywhere. Yet. Fucking. Again.

"Open."

I opened.

"Stick out your tongue."

I didn't look at my bitch. She couldn't see it. I didn't want her to see it. We'd never be the same again.

But I had no control.

There was some slime scraped off onto my tongue right away. I felt some more being rubbed off on my lips. The fat end of the bottle was a little too big to fit into my mouth. My teeth, thankfully, were in the way. Siobhan settled for twirling the end against my tongue and lips, then rubbing it all over my face. I groaned. Swallowed. Tried to just deal with it.

My redneck bitch was still kneeling right beside me. Leaning close. Watching everything.

I kept my eyes squeezed shut. I kept my thighs tight together.

But I did squeeze them a little bit. In this kind of rhythm.

Because I did like it. Fuck it all. I loved it. Being forced. Shit on my tongue. Shit melting in my mouth. Even if it wasn't very much. It was smeared on my face. It was stinking and scraped off against my nostrils.

I was degraded. I was nearing another orgasm. My thighs kept pressing. Pressing. Pressing.

"Touch her," Siobhan commanded.

My redneck bitch's hand, for the first time ever, found its way to my pussy. She opened me. She worked me like the statue in the foyer. Two of her short little fingers crooked up inside my searing, needy cunt and rubbed at the magic spot. Her thumb flicked back and forth across my clit. The bottom of the bottle jammed up against my mouth again. Against my lips. Against my flared nostrils. Against my searching tongue. My shit. My flavor. In my mouth. Up my nose. All over my face.

I came again. I drenched my bitch's hand and arm.

I was wrecked.

My redneck bitch pulled her fingers out and crawled up onto me, lying full on top of my body.

Another first.

She was so much shorter than me, her feet were tapping my knees. Her hair fell down all around my face. Gardenias, jasmine, summer sweet flowers were everywhere. I couldn't smell the shit anymore.

But she could. She sniffed me.

She licked me.

She kissed me.

I wrapped my arms around her, and those other bitches didn't stop me. I smoothed her hair back and cradled her warm, wet face in my hands as we kissed, and still they didn't stop me. I felt her knee slide up against my pussy and press, relax, press, relax. Over and over. And I ground my hips back against it. And still they didn't stop me.

I came. Again. And we kept on kissing. And they didn't stop me.

It was a long time before I realized a third person had entered the room. Had been talking to Siobhan. Giving orders to Sal.

Then it hit me.

Tina.

"Long time, no see," came a low, sultry voice.

Heels clicked on the tile, approached and stopped right next to my head. I couldn't see through my bitch's hair. I struggled to sweep it out of the way, but the mistress of the house had already started.

"Now, how about you get up on your knees, both of you? Fold your hands behind your back. Look at my beautiful shoes for a while."

I took a careful peek at our hostess, as my redneck bitch scrambled up and off, on her knees in an instant. I saw Tina far above me, her shiny black high heels, her long tanned legs in black hose, gartered in black, black panties, black corset, black hair. She was smiling down at me. White teeth. Full lips. Sparkling eyes.

She was holding a glass of wine. She was holding an empty Nigori bottle.

She sipped from one, sniffed at the other.

She waited for me to get up. To do what I was told.

It didn't take long.

Hope you liked it!

Please email the author with comments or questions (or story suggestions!): olivia.octavia.palmer@gmail.com

Copyright 2016 by Olivia Palmer, all rights reserved. Do not repost or redistribute without prior written permission of the author. One copy may be saved for private use, insofar as that use does not extend to personal or financial gain by use of the author's work without consent.