Fiction: Ray's Honey Pots, Part Twenty-Nine

"Listen," Lucy says, "Out of the hundreds of people, men and women, I serviced while I was a honey pot, you were the one who best fit my preferences from before I was abducted. Before, when I was free, I was never brave enough to admit those desires to anyone. When you chose me -- every time you chose me -- I felt closer to my former self, in a way that made me feel safe and happy, not sad, not longing for freedom. The two parts of myself -- the before and the after -- were sort of layered, added together, when I was with you. Being with you was the highlight of my life, whichever part of my life I look at."

I can't look at her. Tears are leaking from my eyes. I turn away from her and look at the IV cord, instead, but even that is transformed into something lovely through the force and meaning of Lucy's words.

"I want you," she breathes, "More than I want to recreate my old life. I want what you give me: a purpose, a focus, all the sensations you make me feel when you take what you want from me." She pauses. I'm listening to her with every cell of my body.

"And after," she says, "You know how to take care of me after. You undo my braid and wrap me in your arms and you actually ask me if I'm okay, if I need anything, if I'm afraid or happy. No one else ever has -- not a girlfriend from before, not a client from Ray's. I don't need to go through a hundred more girlfriends to know that I've found the woman I want to be with."

She's silent again. I wipe my eyes with the stupid puppies and kittens fabric before I turn to face her. Her face is streaked with tears, too. It's beautiful. She's beautiful.

"If you stay with me," I say, my voice low and rough, "You won't be free. You'll be mine. My slave."

Lucy slowly slides off the chair and onto the floor again, with a grace and serious intention that takes my breath away.

"Make me your slave," she says, her eyes meeting mine. Her gaze is unwavering. "Please, Rebecca. I don't want anything more than that."

I let go of her hand so I can grab her hair at the base of her braid. I use it to pull her up and toward me. I sink into the sensation of the crush of her lips against mine. 

I pull her face away from mine long enough to whisper, "You are my slave, Lucy, and I'm going to do whatever I want to you, whenever I want. You're going to serve me, adore me, worship me."

She whimpers into the next kiss. The whimper becomes a moan. She holds onto my forearm with one hand, presses against my opposite shoulder with the other. The kisses last forever, their warmth spreading the length and breadth of my body.

Lucy pauses when the door to the room opens, but I hold her lips against mine, I keep kissing her until she starts matching me again, kiss for kiss. Fuck everyone else, I'm taking what I want.

"Ahem," I hear. I ignore whoever it is.

"Rebecca, do you have a moment?"

I recognize that voice. With my free hand, I flip Rowan off.

"Come back later," I mumble around the kisses, "unless you want to watch."

After a moment I hear the door close again. I have the feeling that, for a split-second there, she actually might have wanted to stay.

Lucy starts to stroke my arm gently, then moves her hand down to massage my breast through the modesty gown. The paper-like fabric rustles and scratches. I don't like it. I growl and push her away. She looks worried.

"Fuck this paper shit," I say, "and fuck this hospital bed." I sit up and pull the gown off my shoulders, pushing it down to gather around my waist before I pull it off and wad it up. I throw it across the room, which isn't very far; the room is small.

"When can I get out of here?" I ask, more to myself than to Lucy.

"Probably after you talk to Rowan," she says in an amused voice. I look at her. She stares back at me. Her eyes, her whole stance, is smoldering, melting. I just need to give the command and she'll pour that heat all over me.

"I like the new you," I growl, "Come here."

She does. We maintain eye contact.

As soon as she's within reach I grab her wrist and pull her closer. There are so many things I want to do to her. I think about my leg. I'm annoyed that I have to be responsible and thoughtful.

I keep one hand on her wrist and, with the other, I reach up to press my palm against her trachea, wrap my fingers around the delicate skin of her throat. I feel her pulse. I'm thrilled that I get to keep her, that I get to make the rules rather than accept Ray's programming for her. But there is one thing she always did that I want to continue.

"Eyes down," I murmur. She lowers her gaze. Her body language shifts ever so slightly, increasing in its submissiveness, in its offer to yield, to succumb.

"My slave keeps her eyes down, at the floor or at my feet, where she belongs. She needs to be invited to look into my eyes."

"Yes, ma'am" she says.

"No, not 'ma'am." Try 'darling,' or 'lover,' or 'light of my life," I say, a  wry smile on my face.

"Yes, darling," she says. She's trying to be serious, but she can't. She grins, says, "Yes, lover. Yes, light of my life." Each endearment is a pleasurable spike to my clit, enhanced by that smile of hers.

"Perfect. If only there was enough time in the day to hear you say all three every time you speak."

I grip her throat more tightly, pull her down toward me, to smash her face against my chest, between my breasts. I run my hand and fingers around to hold the back of her neck.

"And I will call you 'slave,' 'toy,' 'cunt,' 'beloved.' What do you think of that?"

"I want to be called all those things," she whispers into my skin. Her hands rest lightly on my stomach, palms up, surrendering.

With my free hand and uninjured leg, I push and kick the sheet and blanket off of me. My hand on the back of Lucy's neck guides her face down my stomach, toward my mons.

"My beloved slave, I'm going to use you like the cunt you are, care for you like I would any priceless toy."

Lucy moans at my words. My pussy is salivating, eager to be touched, licked, massaged and penetrated. Once I've got her torso past my knee I pull my good leg up and out of her way, draping it over her back.

"Worship me," I say, "Worship the woman who owns you."

And she does. Her whole body trembles as she buries her face in my crotch. For a moment she doesn't breathe, she just holds still, letting my flesh cover and envelope her. She draws back ever so slightly and breathes in deeply. I let go of her neck and wrist, run both hands lightly across her shoulders, tracing an invisible pattern.

"Oh darling, I love the feel of you, the smell of you, the taste," she whispers. She sounds urgent, needy. She dives back in with her whole face, her chin against the mattress, her eyebrows lost in the fur of my sex. Her lips and nose press against the folds of my labia, drenched, I'm sure, in my excitement.

I feel her tongue as it parts my lips and slips in with a light, gentle touch. Then she flattens her tongue, pulls it out and presses flat against my entrance. I close my eyes and imagine what that must look like, with my labia curled and crowding around her tongue like a picture frame.

We both moan as she takes another breath and another dive. She slides her hands down, one takes up position just above the cleft in my mons, bearing down slightly behind my clit. With the other, she lifts and separates the lips with little pinches and pulls, then uses her fingers to rub and push gently down at the entrance to my vagina, along the perineum, slowly stretching me open.

"Oh, my sweet, cunning toy," I breathe, "you know what I like, don't you, my little cunt."

It feels incredible. My whole body responds, the sensitivity of my skin radiating outward from the pressure of her fingers. She licks my clit from below, presses down on it from above, maintains a slow, easy rhythm. I can hardly stand it. My hips start rocking, matching her rhythm.

"Ungh! Oh fuck!"

Lucy moans into my pussy, speeds up in response to my words.

I want to relax into the sensations and let them flow through me but it feels so fucking good; everything tenses up and the pleasure contained in the muscles and the blood and the skin at Lucy's mercy explodes into a hard, sharp orgasm. I scream it out, digging my nails into her shoulders, grinding my pussy into her face. I feel Lucy whimper and groan in empathy.

Everything is still and quiet for a moment as I come down from the orgasm.

I draw my nails up from her shoulders to her hair, roll her head back and to the side, push down on it so she's trapped between the mattress and my hands, with a view of my pussy. Her eyes are closed. She looks perfectly content to be wherever I put her.

"Open you eyes," I whisper, "Look at the pussy you just pleased."

Lucy opens her eyes and looks. I watch her as she looks, and an aftershock of pleasure rolls through me at the sight of her submission and adoration.