How Mallory found herself in this predicament, she wasn't entirely sure. Her recollection was usually impeccable, but the evening's change of pace caused its own set of challenges. She was certain it was only moments ago that the q and a session was in full swing, coffee never cold and always filled to the brim, pastry crumbs left behind from the apple pie adorning adjacent plates. William had been in his accustomed position; kneeling at Gwendoline's feet unless directed otherwise, face absent of all emotions except contentment. The blonde was borderline oversharing, giving intimate details of their alternative lifestyle, and Mallory ate it up. Greedily, she took every piece of information her companion was offering, filling and filing everything that could be used at a later date or seemed important. Unfortunately, she didn't know what exactly was important, and that meant everything was.
She and Gwen continued to play their game. Mallory was slowly catching on: it wasn't chess, checkers, or backgammon. Her objective wasn't to win, but to last. It was that of endurance. How much could she take before she cried uncle, or, in this case, a safe word.
Perhaps that's how she found herself within the confines of the blonde's room. Dim lighting provided little allowance to details, but Mallory could see well enough to determine everything that was happening. William was pressed up against the bedroom door, with his back presented to the women. His boxers had been discarded, and Mallory tried to offer him as much dignity back as possible, maintaining her eye line above his waist. Gwendoline placed herself a few feet behind him, flogger in hand - the same leather piece that the brunette had fondled previously. With one hand placed behind her back and the other swinging in an infinity sign, the woman proceeded to hit pale flesh.
Mal leaned forward from her seat, fingers tangling in the silk bed fabrics as she watched. Wide, azure eyes surveyed everything she could. William's muscles twitched, shoulder blades contracting and releasing every few hits. He made little noise, broken sighs coming from under his mask after particularly hard cracks, but they were barely noticeable compared to the sharp, consecutive thumps of the leather hitting itself and skin. The flogger moved like water, flowing and falling as Gwen demanded. She was the moon, controlling the tides as it struck unexpecting ships.
And Gwendoline. Mallory sucked in a hard breath, shuttering at the exhale. She was beautiful. New perspective was offered as she stared at the woman's side profile. Viridescent eyes were centered on the man, dark lips pursed with satisfaction. Confidence oozed from her with every flick of her wrist and Mallory drank in as much as she could.
Her earlier assumptions were confirmed as the blonde moved, satin fabric cinching and clinging in various places. Gwendoline was womanly - shapely hips and curves. Mallory was certain the woman was ambrosia: divine and heavenly. Paris would regard her: Athena, Hera, Aphrodite, and all they had to offer be damned. Even Aphrodite, gifted the golden apple, would bestow the honor onto her: truly the fairest. If Helen of Troy launched a thousand ships, Gwen would launch ten thousand more.
Mallory hadn't noticed her staring until the blonde stopped. She glanced over at William, whose entire back and cheeks were colored pink before meeting dangerous, green eyes and almost regretting it. Cursing internally, she maintained eye contact, drowning in desire laden pupils. Her hands stayed on the bed, not trusting them to betray her. If her hands had their way, they would have pulled the blonde on top of her, caressing and memorizing every dip and curve, wanting nothing less than for her tongue to replace greedy fingers.
Gwen bit her bottom lip, white contrasting against deep red, as she leaned down and into Mallory's space. Her perfume was intoxicating, dancing in the little space between the women. Mal held her breath as she was appraised, shifting between critical eyes and plump lips that begged to be devoured. Slender fingers caressed her cheek before guiding her jawline up. Thickness enveloped the air and Mallory's mind was foggy. Her only focal point was the woman before her, even as bright eyes fluttered in anticipation.
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YOU ARE READING
Superior
Romance"You're superior to him, remember that. Now hit him harder." Amidst the radical, feminist movements of the 90's, a younger, inquisitive, and newly married Mallory Morgan finds herself amongst unusual company-a mistress and her slave. She hadn't a c...