86th and Park

Holly got up without a word. At the door she turned to Jane. "Thank you for punishing me, Mommy. Good night. I love you."

"You're welcome, darling. Good night. I love you too."

Holly left the room and walked down to the hallway that crossed over to the side of the apartment where Helen had her rooms. She approached Helen's bedroom slowly, feeling both fear and excitement. Her backside was still quite sore, and she knew Helen was a no-nonsense domme. A band of light shone at the bottom of Helen's door. She knocked. A voice from inside the room said, "Come in."

She entered Helen's bedroom. Helen sat on the bed with her back against the headboard, a couple of pillows propping her up. She had a magazine in her lap and she was smoking. And she was as naked as Holly. By way of greeting, Helen put the magazine to the side and pulled her pussy lips apart, showing off the bright pink of her vagina. Holly had no doubt the magazine was pornographic. Helen was obsessed with pornography, with white girls serving black mistresses, as evidenced by the dozens of magazines, DVDs and videos strewn about the room.

The two women devoured each other with their eyes. Holly tried to stay focused on Helen's pretty, dark-skinned face, but her gaze quickly strayed to Helen's 42DD breasts, relatively small waist and that completely shaven pussy. Holly loved Helen's breasts, the nipples of which were now quite engorged. She had photographed them many times. The nipples of her own smaller, perkier breasts were also fully swollen.

Helen broke the spell by shifting her feet to the floor and putting out her cigarette. She said, "Baby, it's time to start the show. If we don't, Jane'll whip both our asses." She laughed. "Okay, child, you know the drill." She stood, and as she did so Holly heard a crinkling sound from Helen's pussy. She knew that Helen was very wet.

Holly moved near the foot of the bed. She held her arms out in front of her. Helen got a pair of handcuffs and a length of chain from the drawer of her night table, and joined Holly's wrists together. She hooked one end of the chain to the cuffs and the other to an eyehook that was screwed into the ceiling. Arms raised overhead, Holly was forced to stand almost on tiptoe. Helen went over to her closet and brought out a spreader bar, which she attached to each of Holly's ankles, forcing them widely apart. Holly had a clit piercing, and a small hoop pierced each outer labium. Helen went back to the drawer of the night table for two short lengths of lightweight chain. Attached to one end of each chain was a two-pound cube of lead. She linked a chain to each hoop, which immediately distended Holly's labia. Though she didn't say anything Holly shifted her weight from foot to foot. She was evidently quite uncomfortable.

Helen lit a cigarette and circled Holly to admire her handiwork. She stopped when she saw the markings on Holly's backside. "Ooh, baby, it hurts just to look at that." She traced a finger lightly over one mark. That was enough to cause Holly to moan and shake about. "Oh, don't worry, baby, I won't hit you there. You're too pretty and your skin is too sensitive to be that rough with." Helen touched the "JW" burned into Holly's flesh. Her finger lingered there, then she kissed Holly's neck.

Helen came round in front of Holly. She took a drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke in her face. Holly turned her head away, but Helen grabbed her jaw, snapped her head back and kissed her fiercely. Holly opened her mouth to receive Helen's tongue, but as suddenly as it had begun Helen broke off the kiss. "No, baby, you can't have it yet." She left her face close to Holly's. Her right hand applied pressure to Holly's throat. She held the cigarette in her other hand, close to Holly's right nipple. She knew that Holly wanted her to burn her, to mark her like Jane had. It was so tempting. Holly had told her her orgasms were more intense with her than with Jane because she treated her like a zero. But she couldn't burn her. Holly belonged to Jane. That drastic a step would require permission. She stepped back and looked between Holly's legs. Two narrow ribbons of wetness coursed down her left inner thigh. Holly spoke at last. "Please hurt me."

Helen went back to the closet and got a fly swatter and a short, thin-handled whip. With the fly swatter she struck Holly under her arms, on her face and on her breasts. Individually a blow didn't mean much, but after a few minutes the cumulative effect had Holly gulping for air and dancing spasmodically. Helen changed to the whip and concentrated on Holly's breasts, swinging the whip in a tight circular motion. This was enough to bring Holly to the brink of orgasm.

Sensing Holly's excitement, Helen freed her from her bonds and dragged her by the hair to the bed. She sat again with her back against the headboard and lay Holly with her face in her lap. She slapped Holly's face with her massive breast, then suffocated her with it. Hannah opened her mouth and greedily sucked the ebony nipple. Each woman began to masturbate furiously. It was only a minute before they came in unison, Holly keening like a songbird in distress, Helen emitting broken, staccato curses.

They lay like that for a while. Finally Helen said, "Time for bed, child." Holly replied, "I know, Mammy. Could I sleep in the bed with you?"

"You know you can't, baby. Go to your bed."

Holly went to the foot of Helen's bed. Helen kept a four-foot-in-diameter doggy cushion there as Holly's bed. Holly curled up with a blanket and pillow.

Helen turned out the light. They said good night.

F O U R

The door to The Duchess stood wide open. Helen leaned against the back of her favorite barstool, positioned at the midpoint of the small bar, and soaked in the rays of the early-evening sun on this unusually warm early May day. She wore, as she always did when she came here, blue jeans and a light-blue workshirt with the sleeves rolled up. There were no surprises with her. A girl always knew where Helen was coming from.

She had been coming to The Duchess, on Hudson Street in Greenwich Village, two or three nights a week for years. Everyone knew her; it was her personal Cheers. She liked the place because it reminded her of working-class bars in Queens, where she had been born forty years before and where she had grown up, and, of course, because it was women-only. Yeah, the occasional guy walked in, by himself or trailing a female friend, but there weren't any problems so long as the guy kept to himself or his friend. But she really liked the place because it was popular with NYU lesbians and bisexuals. Helen loved to date girls much younger than herself, preferably white girls, but she would occasionally go with Hispanics and Asians. She never dated her own race. She didn't know why, and she never gave it a thought.

She smoked a cigarette and watched Katie Couric mouth the usual pieties on the TV hung over the service bar. She yawned. There were only a few other women in the place. She knew them, but they were all her age or older. Not dating material. Carla (born Carl but Carla since 21 and the hormone therapy), the weeknight bartender, set another Rolling Rock in front of her. Though it was early, she decided to make this beer her last, then head home.

She heard a thump behind her and swiveled on her stool. The source of the thud lay on the floor two barstools to the left. It was an overstuffed, olive-drab duffel bag. Its owner, her long, fine, perfectly straight dark-brown hair masking her face, was bent over the bag, vainly trying to unzip it. She wore loose-fitting blue jeans and a dark-green baggy T-shirt. Helen watched the girl struggle and was tempted to laugh. She wished the girl would point her ass toward her as she stayed bent over. Suddenly the girl kicked the bag, cursed and sat on a stool with her head in her hands. Just as suddenly she attacked the zipper again, succeeding this time in opening it, and fished out a notebook and pen. She resumed her seat and began to scribble furiously in the notebook.

Carla approached the girl and asked what she wanted. She ordered a beer, and Carla set a Rolling Rock in front of her. Carla looked over at Helen as if to ask, "Another beer?" Helen held up the palm of her hand, which answered, "Not yet." They smiled at one another. The girl took two quick gulps of her beer, emptying half the bottle. She resumed writing. Helen had still not seen her face, but now the girl cooperated by tucking her hair behind her right ear. Helen studied the girl's profile, which was striking. She had never seen this pretty girl before, and she was obviously very young, perhaps still in her teens. The milky skin of her arm and face was lightly freckled. She was thin, almost too thin, but her breasts were large and full. The girl sat hunched, concentrated on her writing. Despite her posture Helen guessed that she was 5 foot 10 or so, taller than her own 5 foot 8. She also guessed, because of the way the girl's breasts shaped the thin material of her T-shirt, that she wasn't wearing a bra. She tried to imagine her with her shirt off.

Helen sipped her beer and thought of ways to start a conversation. Usually this wasn't a problem. She had picked up any number of girls here and elsewhere, but this girl wasn't giving any signs she even wanted to talk to anybody. Then the girl herself opened the door. She reached for a bar napkin and blew her nose. She reached for another, dabbed her eyes and began to cry softly. Helen froze, then leaned on the stool between them and asked, "Are you all right, honey?" The girl nodded but immediately started to cry in earnest. Helen pushed her beer along the bar toward the girl and shifted to the barstool next to her. Without thinking she put her arm around the girl's shoulders and her hand on the girl's forearm. They stayed like that as the girl cried herself out. She quieted, and Helen took her hand from the girl's arm and moved her left arm to the back of the barstool. The girl finally spoke. "Whew, it's just so crazy. It's just so fucked up."

"What's so fucked up?"

"Oh, God, everything. My girlfriend just threw me out of her apartment. I mean, she paid for me to move out here from Detroit, and I get here and she tells me she's in love with another girl, so we had a big fight and she kicks me out. I mean, I don't know anyone here, I've got nowhere to go, I'm almost out of money. Man, I can't go back to Detroit. Shit, this is so fucked." She started to cry again but balled a fist and brought it down on the bar. She straightened up and stopped.

Helen spoke. "Listen, honey, you want another beer? You can talk to me if you need somebody to talk to." The girl nodded, and Helen caught Carla's eye and flashed two fingers. "What's your name?"

"Sandy." For the first time the girl faced Helen directly. She was beautiful, model-beautiful. She had large light-brown eyes and perfect skin and features.

"I'm Helen. Nice to meet you."

They talked nonstop for the next few hours. Periodically Helen gave Carla the two-fingered beer signal. They found they had many things in common, despite the differences in skin color and age -- Sandy was 19. They were both gay, obviously. Both had grown up in working-class families, Sandy in Detroit, Helen in Queens. And both had been raped, the only time either had been with a man. Sandy, at 14, had been gang-raped in a neighbor's basement. She still seethed about it and hated men. Helen was more phlegmatic. An uncle had abused her when she was 16, but by this point in her life she felt merely indifference toward those humans with penises.

The night held dominion. It was past 11:00. The bar was filled with women, some beautiful, some not. Helen and Sandy took no notice, though from time to time Helen waved hello to various regulars. They held hands, looked into each other's eyes and felt a welcome warm numbness. Helen said aloud what she had been thinking for some time.

"Beauty, you can spend the night with me if you want. I've got plenty of room. But I gotta be straight up with you. If you stay with me you gotta give me something sweet. You know what I mean? I mean, you're too beautiful."

Sandy pulled away a bit but kept hold of Helen's hand. She thought for a minute. "Okay."

"Baby, there's something else. We haven't talked about this yet, but I like to be a little rough with my girls. You okay with that?"

Sandy bit her lip but it was to suppress a smile. "I'm a total sub. You can do anything you want to me."

It was time to find a cab.

* * *

Helen hailed a cab. She and Sandy heaved the duffel bag onto the floor of the back seat. Even with two lifting, the bag was awkward and heavy. Helen wondered how Sandy, with her slight build, was able to carry this thing around by herself. She must be pretty strong, she thought. They climbed into the back seat, and Helen was pleased to note there was a glass partition separating the front and back seats. The driver slid it part way open, and Helen said, "86th and Park." Her eyes went instinctively to the driver's rearview mirror. His eyes were already there, quizzical. Helen repeated the destination, this time with some venom in her voice. He said, "Okay. Whatever."

Helen sat back against the seat and waited for the cab to settle into traffic. After a minute she reached over and pinched Sandy's nipple. Aha, she thought, no bra. Sandy had been looking out her window. Now she snapped her head toward Helen and gasped. Helen put a finger to her own lips to shush her. Sandy complied but squirmed and sank lower in the seat. Helen sqeezed harder and began to slowly twist the nipple back and forth as if it were a radio dial. It swelled in her grasp. She leaned into Sandy to kiss her. Sandy kissed her back and opened her mouth for more, but Helen moved her mouth to Sandy's ear. "Baby, unbutton your jeans for me."

Sandy did as she was told and sank even lower in the seat. Helen released the nipple, and put her hand down Sandy's pants and burrowed under her thong. She found her clit, juicy and plump. She ran her finger up and down the clit, then circled it a few times. She explored the labia and inner thighs. She found not a trace of hair, just what she was hoping for. She plunged her finger into the expectant slit. It went in easily to the third knuckle, and Helen finger-fucked the cunt a few times. The finger continued south, seeking the asshole. Sandy helped by spreading her legs wide and becoming almost supine, her ass hanging off the seat. Even that position was not favorable though, and the finger was able to penetrate only shallowly. Further inspection would have to wait till they got to her place. For the moment Helen quietly urged Sandy to sit more upright, the finger retreated to the sanctuary of the slit, and they remained that way till 86th and Park.

* * *

Helen gave the driver exact change. Outside the cab she tented a crisp ten-dollar bill and handed it to him through his half-open window. He had that quizzical look again. "Hey, thanks a lot," he said. "No problem, my friend," said Helen. He drove away. "You live here?" said Sandy. She sounded amazed.

Each woman grabbed a handle of the duffel bag, and they carried it to the front door of the building. The night doorman started toward them to help, but Helen said, "That's all right, Eddie, we got it." He retreated to the door and held it open for them. Eddie was Eduardo, a small, dapper, young Puerto Rican. He and Helen were pals. She made sure of that by putting a hundred-dollar bill in an evelope for him every Christmas. Eddie was cool for a guy, but mainly she was buying his silence about all the girls she came and went with.

Eddie was smiling his wide, knowing smile as Helen and Sandy struggled past. He said, "Good evening, Miss Helen. How's everything tonight?"

"Peace and harmony reign, Eddie. Peace and harmony reign."

"You got that right, Miss Helen. You got that right. Have yourselves a pleasant evening, ladies." As the women shuffled over to the elevator on the left, Eddie said to himself, "Damn, that white girl's hot."

No one was waiting for the elevator, so as soon as the doors closed Helen pushed Sandy against the back wall, pinned her wrists behind her and stood with her legs between Sandy's. She kissed her roughly. Sandy made her mouth into a cave, and Helen's tongue explored everywhere, finding tongue, teeth, hard and soft palates, even uvula. She began to fuck Sandy, and Sandy met her thrusts. They broke off their kiss to stare down at their crotches, which were straining to become one.

The doors opened on the top floor. Helen and Sandy broke their clinch and dragged the duffel across the foyer to the door on the right. This way led to Helen's suite of rooms, which included her bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room and another, smaller bedroom with its own bathroom.

They dropped the bag in Helen's bedroom, which as usual was a mess. Helen said, "Just stay where you are, baby, but take your shirt off." In one motion Sandy had her shirt over her head and off. She tossed it on the bed. Helen was pulling her shirt out of her jeans and unbuttoning it, but her focus was on finding some porn to put on.

She picked up a disk at random that was next to the DVD player and inserted it. She pointed the remote at the machine and pushed play. She recognized the movie right away and was happy with her choice. She had bought it only recently but had already played certain scenes a half-dozen times or more. The picture, "The Slaves of Madame Sakura," was directed by Jon Lynch, who, she thought, was the only guy in the business who made decent lesbian d/s porn. It featured two young actresses she hadn't seen before but who were dynamite. An unusually large-breasted Asian girl played Madame Sakura. She was beautiful and a domme, but Helen was fixated on the other girl, a blonde who was billed as Aurora. This girl had a perfect body and a totally sweet submissive nature.

Helen got out of all her clothes as fast as she could. When she was naked she grabbed the remote and jumped on the bed, bracing her back with a pillow against the headboard. She cued up Scene Ten, the hottest one in the movie, in which Madame Sakura whipped Aurora, then fucked her with a huge strapon. Helen hit the play button and began to masturbate. She said to Sandy, "Baby, watch this scene. This is so hot." To Helen these girls didn't seem to be acting at all. They were completely attuned to one another, and that's what was so exciting to watch. She thought they must be lovers in real life. Her eyes danced between the screen, where the Asian girl was

whipping the blonde, and her own beautiful sub. She said, "Baby, push your pants down to your ankles and play with yourself. But don't come. Mind me." Sandy did so, and Helen watched her watching the DVD and jerking off. She was close to an orgasm herself. She thought about delaying it, but it was too late. The spasm engulfed her, her mouth fell open and out flowed a stream of expletives.

She lay for a while and stared at the ceiling. Then she got up and lit a cigarette. Sandy continued to watch the movie and play with herself. Helen put the cigarette in Sandy's mouth, and Sandy took a drag. Helen took two drags more herself, then put it out. Excitement was building in her again. She wanted to do something extraordinary to this girl, but she didn't know what that was. She said, "Take everything off and put your hands behind your head and interlock your fingers." Sandy took the rest of her clothes off and stood as she had been instructed. Helen came over to her and noticed for the first time that she had a tattoo over her left breast, block letters semicircling the breast and spelling "Carol." "Your girlfriend, huh?" "Yeah," said Sandy. Helen wrapped her left arm around the middle of Sandy's back and pulled her tightly to her. With her right hand she cupped her own massive right breast and rubbed it against the letters on Sandy's chest, as if to erase them. She pressed roughly against Sandy's nipple with her own, then began to fuck it as if it were an aperture.