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The Mistress Within

Jim opened the door for Amara when she knocked at precisely 7:00 PM. “You are punctual,” he said. “That’s a good sign.” “Not being late would be disrespectful, Sir,” Amara replied. Jim took her coat and asked, “Is your room okay?” She nodded quickly. “Yes, Sir, it is. Thank you for being so thoughtful.” He smiled as he noticed that Amara was dressed exactly as Sarah had instructed. “Not at all,” he said. “We want to give you a safe place to unwind afterward, and you’ll have privacy to reflect—and we’re right here if you need anything. I’m only here to watch and make sure you’re both safe. My plan is to be invisible unless you need something. Are you okay with that?” “Yes, Sir. Of course. Ms. Sarah told me that.” And with that, Jim retreated into a side room, leaving the door open behind him. It was a windless night at the lodge, the kind that pressed silence against the windows and made candle flames burn steady and bold. The fire in the hearth was already lit, licking golden-orange against the stone. Shadows danced across the fur rugs and low furniture like specters of something waiting. Sarah stood barefoot on the thick rug, her black silk robe open enough to reveal the curve of her breasts and the glint of metal at her navel. Her skin gleamed in the firelight—flushed, warm, owned. But tonight, she was not here to be taken. Tonight, she was here to take. Amara entered the room like something conjured—wrapped in wine-colored satin, her golden-brown skin radiant, her dark curls loose around her shoulders. Her gaze held curiosity, and something else. Hunger. Sarah didn’t greet her with words. She crossed the room slowly, letting the hem of her robe drift open just enough to tease. She reached out, fingertips brushing Amara’s collarbone, then slipping under the silk to graze one peaked nipple. Amara’s breath caught. “You’re here for me tonight,” Sarah said softly. “You understand that?” “Yes,” Amara whispered. Sarah’s voice hardened. “Yes what?” Amara swallowed. “Yes, Ms.” Sarah leaned in, lips brushing Amara’s cheek, then lower, until her mouth hovered at the pulse in her throat. “Take your clothes off. Slowly. I want to see everything I’m about to use.” Amara obeyed. Her hands moved with an almost devotional grace as she slid the dress from her shoulders, letting it puddle at her feet. Her body was exquisite—curved, bare, already flushed with anticipation. She didn’t cover herself. She stood, offered. Sarah walked behind her, trailing fingers across her spine, down the arch of her back to the softness of her hips. She let her hand linger there, then leaned in, her voice like velvet at Amara’s ear. “Kneel.” Amara sank to her knees with practiced grace. “Wider,” Sarah said, nudging her thighs apart with her bare foot. Then Sarah knelt in front of her, cupping Amara’s chin. Her eyes held steady power. “I’m going to show you what it feels like to be stripped open and worshiped. Not gently. Not sweetly. Completely.” She kissed her. It started slow—lips grazing, testing. But Amara opened under her quickly, mouth parting, tongue searching. The kiss deepened into something heady and wild. Sarah took her mouth like a promise, like a possession. One hand tangled in Amara’s hair, the other sliding down to grasp a breast, thumb flicking over the nipple until Amara gasped against her lips. Sarah broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Crawl to the rug.” Amara obeyed without question, crawling on hands and knees to the center of the floor, where the firelight fell strongest. Sarah followed, eyes locked on the sway of her hips. When Amara turned to face her, Sarah pushed her gently but firmly to her back. She straddled her thighs and leaned down, letting her lips ghost over Amara’s stomach, her breasts, her throat—never giving quite enough. The anticipation built between them like a charge in the air. “You want my mouth, don’t you?” Sarah murmured. Amara nodded, breathless. “God, yes.” Sarah’s smile was slow and wicked. “Then beg me.” Amara’s voice trembled. “Please, Ms.… please use your mouth on me. I need it. I need you.” Sarah rewarded the plea with a low hum of approval, dragging her nails lightly down Amara’s inner thighs. “Need,” she echoed. “That’s a good word. Say it again.” “I need you, Ms..” Sarah dipped her head and licked once—slowly, deliberately—along the seam of Amara’s pussy. The contact was electric. Amara cried out, hips bucking before she could stop herself. Sarah gripped her thighs hard enough to still her. “No. You stay still. You take what I give.” “Yes, Ms.,” Amara gasped, panting. Sarah’s tongue moved again, this time pressing deeper, flicking rhythmically, slowly teasing her clit with soft strokes that barely gave enough friction to satisfy. It was maddening. Amara writhed under the control, eyes fluttering, her hands clutching at the rug. “You taste like heat,” Sarah murmured. “Like surrender.” She slid two fingers inside Amara without warning—deep and firm. Amara’s back arched, her moan drawn and raw. “Don’t you dare come,” Sarah warned, her breath hot against slick skin. “Not until I say.” “I—please, I’ll try, I’m so close—” Sarah curved her fingers inside, grazing that perfect spot, her tongue moving faster now, but still keeping her just shy of release. “Then you’ll hold it for me,” Sarah said, lifting her head just enough to meet her eyes. “You’ll beg for it. And when I say the word, you’ll let go like I’ve pulled it from your soul.” Amara sobbed with restraint. “Please let me come. Please. I’m yours—do anything—just don’t stop.” Sarah gave a wicked smile, lowered her mouth again—and kept her right at the edge for a long, torturous minute. Amara thrashed beneath her, incoherent, desperate. Then Sarah whispered, “Come.” Amara exploded. Her entire body seized, her thighs clamped, her cries wild and unfiltered as the orgasm tore through her like lightning. Sarah didn’t stop. She rode it, coaxed it, extended it until Amara collapsed, boneless and gasping. Sarah rose slowly, straddling Amara’s thigh, her body flushed with need now. She didn’t hesitate. She ground down onto her slick skin, moaning low and guttural as she found her own rhythm. “Watch me,” she ordered, breathless. “I’m going to come on your leg, and you’re going to feel what your service does to me.” Amara’s glassy eyes stayed locked on her, reverent. Sarah’s hips moved harder, faster, chasing her climax. Her hands slid up her own body, pinching her nipples, stroking down her belly as she rode Amara’s thigh. Her moans deepened, her movements jerking as she neared the edge. Then with a cry—raw, guttural—Sarah came, trembling and flushed, pouring herself out with no restraint. She collapsed forward, gasping against Amara’s shoulder. But she wasn’t finished. Rising again, she walked to the side table and lifted a harness and silicone cock—black, thick, heavy in her hand. She strapped it on slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Knees. Face the mirror,” she said. Amara obeyed. Sarah knelt behind her, guiding the tip of the strap-on along Amara’s wet pussy. The moan that escaped Amara’s lips was pure surrender. “Feel that?” Sarah asked. “That’s mine. I’m going to fuck you with it now. And you’re going to scream for me.” The first thrust was deep. Slow. Possessive. Amara’s mouth dropped open, her back arching. Sarah set a rhythm—steady, deliberate, each stroke grinding against her clit through the harness. She grabbed Amara’s hips and drove in deeper, the sound of slick heat meeting hips echoing in the firelit room. Her pace increased, a cadence of dominance and hunger. With every thrust, the strap-on slid deeper, filling Amara completely. Her moans turned to pleas, then to cries. “Tell me who’s using you.” “You are, Ms.—fuck—it’s so good—please don’t stop.” Sarah leaned forward, chest brushing Amara’s back, breath hot at her ear. “I’ll stop when I’ve wrecked you,” she growled. “When your pussy forgets every other touch but mine.” She slammed into her harder, hips snapping with precision. Amara shook, her thighs trembling, another orgasm building fast. “Do you want to come again?” “Yes, Ms.—please—please fuck me harder—please let me come.” Sarah reached around and rubbed Amara’s clit, fast and relentless. “Then come for me. Now.” Amara shattered with a scream, her whole body convulsing, her pussy clenching hard around the thick silicone cock. Sarah held her through it, fucking her slow now, milking every last tremor from her body. Sarah whispered, “You’re mine now,” as she kept her deep, slow rhythm, every inch of the cock dragging against Amara’s soaked walls. Then she pulled Amara close and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “Now turn around,” she murmured, helping Amara onto her back. Sarah straddled her again, cock still slick with her arousal, and began thrusting once more, this time with her gaze locked to Amara’s. “I want to see your face when I take you apart,” Sarah said, voice low and dominant. She fucked her slowly, deliberately, making Amara feel every stroke, every inch. Amara's hands grabbed Sarah’s waist, holding on, surrendering completely. Her eyes filled with tears—not from pain, but from the overwhelming depth of submission and pleasure. Sarah leaned down, whispering into her ear. “I own your pleasure now. And you love it.” “I do,” Amara sobbed. “I love it. I love being yours.” And Sarah kept moving, drawing it out, guiding Amara into another trembling climax, until finally, both collapsed into each other—sweat-soaked, breathless, wrapped in firelight and the knowledge of what had just passed between them. And in that quiet moment, nothing else existed. Just the echo of dominance, submission, and the bond that had formed between two women in the flames. They didn’t leave the lodge that night. After the fire died down and Amara had fallen asleep in the guest room, Jim and Sarah lay wrapped in the thick quilt of the main bed. Her body still thrummed from everything that had happened—the power she had claimed, the control she had held, and the way he had watched her with silent, steady pride. Sarah turned into his chest, her fingers idly tracing along the line of his ribs. “You didn’t say much tonight.” Jim kissed the top of her head. “I didn’t need to. You were magnificent.” She breathed in slowly. “I kept thinking you would step in. That maybe I’d go too far, or not far enough. But you didn’t.” “That was the point,” he said. “You didn’t need me to correct you. You needed space to lead. And I needed to see if you’d do it with the same respect and intentionality you’ve brought to your submission.” Sarah pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “And did I?” “You exceeded every expectation.” Her throat tightened. She rested her forehead against his. “Sir, I’ve never felt more… full. Like I gave something real, but also received something I didn’t know I was missing.” Jim held her face gently. “What you gave Amara was a gift. But what you gave yourself tonight was even greater. You stepped into something powerful. And you never once stepped out of what we’ve built together.” She nodded slowly. “I didn’t feel less yours. I felt more. Like I finally understand what it means to hold space for someone else, because you’ve held it for me for so long.” Jim ran his thumb along her jaw. “That’s the foundation of what we do. Submission doesn’t make you small. It makes you strong enough to give.” Later, as the night deepened and the wind moved through the pines outside, Sarah whispered, “I want to serve you more, Sir. Not just in scenes. In the quiet parts, too. The habits. The structure. The surrender that happens outside the bedroom.” Jim wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Then we’ll build that together. Rituals. Routines. Respect. What happened tonight wasn’t a break from our path—it was a milestone on it.” She sighed contentedly. “She said thank you. Not just for the pleasure. For the safety. The structure. For the feeling of being known.” Jim kissed her temple. “You gave her what I’ve always tried to give you.” Sarah’s eyes shimmered. “I want to be more for you. Because of you.” He held her tighter. “You already are.” And with those words, they drifted into sleep—his arm around her, her heart steadied by everything they had just discovered together. Later that morning, the three of them gathered at a table in the lodge’s small restaurant, a quiet corner filled with sunlight and the aroma of fresh coffee and warm bread. Amara arrived wearing soft jeans and a sweater, her curls still slightly tousled. She looked peaceful. Content. They ordered eggs, fruit, and strong coffee. Conversation flowed easily. Amara broke the silence first. “I didn’t expect to feel so safe… or so seen.” Jim smiled. “That’s the highest compliment you could give.” Sarah reached over and squeezed Amara’s hand. “You gave me trust. That’s not easy. I’ll never take it lightly.” Amara’s eyes shimmered. “I hope we can do it again. Maybe even… grow something there. It felt natural.” Jim looked between them and nodded. “If you’re both interested, we’ll make that happen. But only with clarity, consent, and care.” Both women nodded. “Thank you,” Amara said, looking at Jim. “For making time for us, for holding space for it. For us.” Jim lifted his coffee. “To trust, then. And friendship. And growth.” They clinked glasses, and the lodge felt, for a moment, like the safest place in the world. What had happened the night before wasn’t just a scene. It was the deepening of connection, of identity. And none of them would forget it.