Do You Trust Me?

Info Smokey125
10 Dec. '16
Do You Trust Me?

Originally published November 2015 as Smokey Saga #57

*****

This was my first tribute to Halloween. It’s another story with some consensual bondage, and some gentle, soothing and yet quite trying torment. At the same time, it has some fun fantasy elements. So there’s a little something for your inner Sapphile and that part of you that’s a bit turned on by sci-fi as well. It even turned me on while I was writing it, which doesn’t happen that often, but then, this is one of my favorite scenarios. TRUST ME!!

*****

Don’t You Want Somebody To Love

Wednesday, October 30th, 2013, 3:06 p.m.

Off the elevator and out of the medical building stepped 32-year-old Phyllis Dixon, following the most recent appointment with her therapist, Dr. Isaac Jameson. It’d gone okay, or as well as could be hoped for, Phyllis supposed. Most appointments were more or less the same nowadays. Now it was back to her house to do…whatever. She’d decide when she got there.

Every other week she was afforded forty-five minutes to discuss her life and issues, which didn’t consist of very much baggage. There wasn’t a lot that could be considered wrong with her. She was securely employed at First Federal Bank, kept herself in reasonable shape physically and hygienically, was 5’6”, 125 pounds, gay, and didn’t lead the loneliest social life. Yet for all her visible good points, she was alone. Oh, she always had her family, of course, but she’d never exactly been very fortunate meeting women.

It wasn’t as if she’d never been on a date. She’d gone out with a few girls in high school and college, but nothing more. The percentage of the female population she met never seemed extremely keen on her, but then, being in the lesbian minority put her at something of a disadvantage. There were women in her bank who were attractive, who were nice, and who were both, but they were all very straight, and very happily married. In fact, Phyllis was pretty sure her male colleagues were married also. And while she wouldn’t want to date someone she worked with, she did grow the slightest bit weary of colorful co-worker stories which began with, “My husband…” or “My wife…” Having nothing to contribute, she felt a bit left out.

And so her love life—or lack thereof—was the subject that came up most frequently during her therapy visits. Dr. Jameson had mentioned to her that her chances of meeting someone would be undoubtedly improved if she tried visiting a lesbian bar—a venue specifically designed, after all, for the purposes of meeting gay girls with whom to strike up a romantic connection. She agreed with the logic, but…she didn’t know. Much as she wanted to meet someone, her adult-long scarcity of female company had depleted her confidence—even if her solitude had naught to do with her personality.

Phyllis did not consider herself especially beautiful. And it was apparent to her that not many others did either. She boasted a nice body and full, thick hair, but her own facial features frankly struck her as awkward. Oh, a gentleman might tee up on her now and again, but being gay, she was unable to return his fancy. She couldn’t pose for modeling, but at least she didn’t make her mirror crack. But even if she was alone only because everyone else was already snatched up, wonders weren’t done for her self-esteem. And the environment of a gay bar daunted her. She didn’t know if she could contend with hotter or more experienced women to court a cute girl, and the idea of a threesome—or even more involved orgy—freaked her out.

The therapist suggested to her that it couldn’t hurt to just go, walk around, peek about here and there and get a feel of it. She didn’t have to talk to anyone if she was intimidated; she could just have a look, and depart anytime she wished. It was essentially the equivalent of window shopping for store merchandise. “Just keep in mind,” he’d said, “Gay bars have raised a lot of batting averages. There are no guarantees; you may still strike out, and you may not. But it can’t possibly lower your odds, and if you don’t try, you’ll never know. Remember, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” Dr. Jameson was quite fond of his sports metaphors. Phyllis was about to say that taking a shot wouldn’t help if she didn’t even know where the goal was, but her doc went on.

“I mean, there’re lots of women out there, that’re not only okay with meeting a nice gal with a lot to offer like yourself; they want to,” he continued. “And besides, even if you don’t meet anyone today, nothing says you can’t go back and try again tomorrow. You never know whose fancy might be struck by your presence.”

You’ll forgive me if I think that’s just a little easy for you to say, Phyllis thought, as her doctor was happily married too. But she really liked him. She enjoyed confiding in Dr. Jameson, because he treated her like a friend, gave her good advice, and could relate to her in at least one important way. He knew a few things about courting women. And the ol’ shrink was making good sense. Phyllis was starting to think she should forget her fears and inhibitions and just give it a shot. What the hell, she thought, allowing herself to be convinced. Really, what’s the absolute worst that could happen?

Actually, she knew what was the absolute worst that could happen: she could be shot down at every turn, thereby obliterating the few remnants of self-worth on to which she’d managed to hold. But she had a feeling that probably wouldn’t happen. Like her doc said, she shouldn’t have so much difficulty just getting a conversation started. Any woman she’d see could be looking to meet a lady just like her—otherwise, what was she doing there?

“Let me ask you something, Phyllis,” said Dr. Jameson. “Just hypothetically: if you did meet a girl—at a bar, or anywhere else—and supposing she might be interested…what are you looking for? What do you want in a woman?”

Good question. Phyllis had to think about it awhile. She wanted to say, “Well, everything you usually look for in a girl,” but didn’t think that a good or narrowed-down enough answer. She wanted someone who was sweet, kind, pretty, funny, with a good personality, good heart, good sex drive, for starters…but it seemed to her those were standard on the checklist, basically par for the course. But as she pondered a bit, she arrived at the conclusion that she wanted someone who could…challenge her.

“Challenge you how?”

Better question. She admitted this being an opinion to which she perhaps wasn’t entitled, but…frankly, she was just a little tired of making all the effort. In the case of each date in her teen years, it was she who’d laid the groundwork, initiated things, and set up all the arrangements. And being that none of these encounters went anywhere, she speculated there was something she wasn’t doing right. It also seemed she couldn’t get a girl to show more enthusiasm than she felt obligated to, that they only regarded her to keep her from thinking them impolite. She had no way of knowing if they were actually interested or not. And she was frankly losing the will to try. It was a fair deal of pressure to go through each time, she told the doctor, the whole exhausting courtship ritual. It was taxing on her, as well as her budget, and it wasn’t paying off, so…why bother?

This pattern generated great frustration through its consistency. Life became duller with each passing day of loneliness, and the more tedious things became, the more she desired someone to come lift her from the rut and spice things up. That was what she needed, some spice and pep to get her love life running. Being the aggressor proved a fruitless solution. Something of a catch-22, as girls—herself included—liked to be pursued and play hard-to-get, which she found cute and charming…at first. Why shouldn’t they like this feeling, she thought. Clearly, on the receiving end of attention, having the signal raised of someone being intrigued, who wouldn’t enjoy that? One day she thought, What if I were the one to be picked up on? What if someone showed interest in me first, or asked me on a date? What if I was given the choice to accept or reject an advance? Not only would it finally indicate to her that a potential mate was interested, the dating ball would be dropped into her court for a change, for her to do with as she would. It was quite a feeling to imagine, but she couldn’t see it actually happening. Even so…

What if someone were to challenge me for once? Supposing—theoretically, of course—a woman approached her, began conversing and opening herself up, leading perhaps to something more. What would happen…she had nary a clue. It was something she’d have to experience to find out. And so Dr. Jameson said he’d see her in two weeks, and Phyllis left. And on the way back home, the boredom of solitude went on wearing on her, finally producing just enough courage that she decided…Y’know what?

Why not? Why the gosh-darned hell not? What really have I got to lose, after all? She made up her mind to find a local lesbian bar and go. She had one errand to take care of, and then her path would be queer. She just hoped she didn’t chicken out on herself.

*****

Where Every Lesbian Knows Your Name

Wednesday, October 30th, 2013, 5:39 p.m.

She felt her heart beating harder on the way. She was nervous, even though she hadn’t yet arrived. She had her suit on, a blue ascot around her neck, a modest layer of makeup touching up her semi-awkward face, was freshly perfumed, and empty-bellied. She’d wait on eating, at least until something happened…or didn’t.

There it was, LesBeers. A large, loquacious banner with a rainbow background hung beneath that read, “Where EVERY night is Ladies’ Night! C’mon in out of the closet and have some fun!” Phyllis double-checked the address, even though she could clearly see the sign. 6511 Bellerive Boulevard. Yup. Okay, no excuse left now. She located a space, paralleled in, took out some change, fed the meter and locked the car. She took a breath, straightening her suit, and made her way across the street.

Once she got inside, she was a little surprised to see how crowded it was—not so much because it was a weekday, but because, well, she guessed she didn’t expect to find this many single lebs in town in the first place. Wow, she thought, Are there this many chicks here every night? There were probably even more on the weekends. For a moment she considered going back outside to make sure she’d come into the correct establishment, but she wasn’t that addle-brained.

She shyly wandered in, relieved to see most gals this evening dolled up like herself. Being the only dame in a suit, she’d feel a little out of place. She passed around a few friendly smiles and waves as if to say, “Hey, yeah, I’m new here, what’s going on,” and so forth. She made her way around the bar, looking for a place to sit. Another pleasant surprise presented itself as she took in a closer view of the clientele. There were comely women everywhere, smiling at her as she passed—some quite flirtatiously. Eventually, she located some unoccupied stools, next to one of which sat a very cute, very blonde mademoiselle in her 30s, close to Phyllis’ age, sipping provocatively from her glass. Her brows arched cordially as they made eye contact. Phyllis slowed to a cautious halt beside her.

Just loudly enough for her to hear, Phyllis unassumingly motioned to the vacant stool to blondie’s right. “May I?”

The woman smiled and nodded without hesitation. “Please!” she welcomed enthusiastically, patting the stool with her palm.

This put Phyllis’ mind a good little bit at ease. Wow, this might be easier than I thought! she told herself. But just as quickly, she added, Yeah, but whatever you do, girl, don’t get cocky. Don’t get overconfident.

Hey, this is me I’m talking to, remember? she reminded herself, ordering a soda. Cocky? Overconfident? Me? Be real. And at the same time, try not to get too nervous, or underconfident either. Try to keep it at a good, balanced medium.

“I’m Phyllis,” she said, matching her introductory tone, offering her hand.

“Hi there!” called the blonde, returning hands with a sitting curtsy. “Veronica.”

“Oh, pretty name!” Phyllis smiled back, thankful she couldn’t go wrong with sincere compliments.

They exchanged friendly chitchat, easier said than done—no pun intended—over the din of the crowd. Her full name was Veronica Anna Upland, and she lived fifteen minutes from the bar, towards the southeast end of town. She was a freelance writer-calligrapher, and was just about to turn 33. Wow, they were almost the same age, remarked Phyllis, her own 33rd birthday approaching in January. The more she looked at her, the more she thought, she’s a lovely girl. She had soft blue eyes, blonde hair flowing in locks around her cheeks and ears, slinking down her shoulders and back. And she was wearing a bright red cocktail dress which beautifully offset said hair and eyes. And when she turned to the side, the shape of her nose and cheeks made Phyllis think, …My God, you’re Heather Locklear. Being a reserved introvert, Phyllis wasn’t prone to approaching the deep end courting a woman. But after a few more flirty smiles and coy glances, she might go so far as to call this woman a superbabe. To herself.

She couldn’t help wondering if Veronica thought she was attractive at all. But she told herself not to get her hopes up; they were still only chatting, after all. And she kept the thought in the back of her mind that even if nothing played out with this lassie fox, there were plenty of others here. But eventually, they finished their drinks and ordered a few more, keeping the conversation going. Phyllis was really liking the direction this was headed. She decided she’d underestimated the advice Dr. Jameson had given her about coming here, as well as her own worth as a person. This girl Veronica seemed to genuinely like her. Still, she made herself refrain from pressing her luck. This is not a game show. Just wait and see, she told herself. Just wait for more conclusive evidence, and don’t push it. Look before you leap, honey, just look before you leap.

In the meantime, it was sure fun getting acquainted with her. Veronica’d moved to the States from Canada when she was 18, and spoke fluent French—“Je parle la langue de l’amour.” Phyllis had no idea what she said, but was wildly enchanted by it nevertheless. Her career spawned from her love of not so much language itself, as of the written letters, numbers, symbols and other characters used in written communication, and she could expertly craft any alphabet in a hundred different hand styles. And so now, she explained, she designed fonts, as part of her craft.

“…Wow,” an impressed Phyllis finally replied. “And I’m just a teller at the bank.”

“But I’ll bet you make a good living,” Veronica offered. “And it’s solid, honest work.”

Gosh, this lady had charm, thought Phyllis. She noticed a pattern in the doll’s speech, that her eyebrows tended to raise at the midpoint of each sentence, and lower back down by the full stop. Her smile curled the edges of her lips up, forming lovely dimples at the corner of each cheek. Phyllis had to admit, when Veronica smiled, she had just a little trouble concentrating on what she said.

My goodness! she thought. Are there more women like this? Is every girl in this bar so friendly? Have these dollies been here this whole time and I never knew it?? Right now, though, she wasn’t concerned about other women, here or anywhere else. For Phyllis—who, again, hadn’t enjoyed her share of lady companionship to this point in her life—the enthusiasm at locating a girl who seemed to fancy her was overwhelming. Despite all the things she’d told Dr. Jameson, she found herself wanting to ask Veronica out. But the intimidation of being rejected stood in her way.

Amazingly enough, she didn’t get the chance. She’d been enjoying herself so much in Veronica’s company, she was losing track of time, and when Veronica consulted her phone for this very information, all Phyllis did was study her magnificently sculpted face. It was safe to say that the next thing that happened utterly blew her mind. Veronica turned back to her.

“Listen, Phyllis? I’d better be getting back home…um…would you like to come with me?”

Phyllis’ eyebrows leapt to attention, mouth dropping open. She couldn’t believe she’d heard those words come out of Veronica’s mouth. It seemed in the midst of all this desire for a woman to hypothetically ask her out for once, fate at last heard her, and stepped in to lend a hand. Against all odds, she was being presented with a proposition she could before have only imagined. It was unbelievable. She had to double-check to make sure she’d understood.

“Did…you just ask me if I wanted to go to your place?”

Veronica paused just a moment.

“…Yeah,” she nodded matter-of-factly. “But…I mean, if you don’t wanna, that’s fine too.”

“Don’t WANNA”??! “Y-YES! Yes, I definitely do wanna!” Phyllis insisted, trying not to sound overzealously eager.

“Okay, great!” Veronica smiled. “Let me just run to the ladies,’ ’kay? You don’t have to go with me; I may be a little while. But don’t worry—I promise I am coming back.” She giggled and patted Phyllis’ hand before she trotted off.

Ten minutes later, Veronica returned to the bar and unsnapped her purse. “Lemme just pay for my drinks here…”

Phyllis quickly reached for her own. “Oh no, please, let me,” she insisted, digging out some cash before Veronica could decline.

“Oh, why, how sweet!” Veronica thanked her. “There’s just one thing, though. I came with someone else, but I’m pretty sure she’s gone by now. Would you mind driving, Phyllis, and I’ll show you the way?”

She could barely believe this was happening; it was almost too good to be true. “Well, of course!” she automatically agreed. They joined hands and threaded their way back out, to the now half-dusky, chilly exterior.

WOW, Phyllis thought breathlessly. My first time visiting a lesbian bar, and not only do I meet someone, I’m actually going home with her! Her doctor had been absolutely right; she never knew whose fancy might be struck by her presence!

*****

Cent-I-Meters

Wednesday, October 30th, 2013, 7:12 p.m.

Phyllis led Veronica across the street to her car. They opened the doors and started in.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Is this your vehicle?”

Phyllis stopped in mid-climb and turned in the direction of the voice. She saw something startling.

A meter maid had appeared, right in front of her driver’s side mirror.

“Uh…yes?”

“Ma’am, you only inserted an hour’s allowance in the meter. You’re more than half an hour over. I’ll have to write you a ticket.”

“What??” she exclaimed. “But, tha—…that’s impossible! I…I could’ve sworn I put in enough for two hours!”

The maid showed her. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry, you see?” She indicated to her that it had in fact expired. “One hour.”

It was getting dark, but the streetlights were on, and Phyllis could clearly make out the “expired” status on the meter.

Oh, geez. Well, that’s just great! The best thing in the world that could happen, and now this. But againI could have sworn…

She sighed. “How much is the ticket?”

“Sixty dollars.”

Sixty DOL—” Unbelievable, she repeated to herself. Veronica noticed what was going on and got back out of the car.

“Uh, miss?” she addressed the meter maid. “Could I have a word with you?”

She discreetly gestured to Phyllis to just stay put, that she would handle this, and took the maid aside for a few moments. Phyllis couldn’t hear what they were saying, but after a bit, she noticed the maid raise her head with a different expression on her face. What exactly was happening now, she wasn’t sure, but another moment later, they returned. The meter maid now looked a lot friendlier.

“Okay, ma’am, I…think I can let you off the hook, this time. Just don’t let it happen again,” she amended, to Phyllis’ visible astonishment. She turned and began heading back. “Drive safely,” she called over her shoulder.

Whoa! Phyllis whipped back around to Veronica.

“Oh my God, that was amazing!” she exclaimed. “How’d you do that?”

Veronica coyly shrugged as they got into the car.

“Oh, I…have a way with people.”

“You’re telling me! What’d you say to her?”

“Ah, it’s really just a simple matter of reasoning. You just…have to know how to deal with certain folks.”

“Gosh,” Phyllis said, shaking her head. “Well, tell me, however can I thank you?”

Veronica smiled.

“Oh, I’m…sure we can figure something out.”

*****

Maison Exotique

Wednesday, October 30th, 2013, 7:38 p.m.

Veronica showed Phyllis to her house. Emerging, she noted just how dim it seemed inside and out. Well, clearly, she reasoned, why would the woman leave her lights on if she’s not home, but in comparison to the other homes nearby, it gave off a sort of dark feel.

Veronica took her inside. When she flipped on the first switch, Phyllis was slightly taken aback by just how little light was offered. She could make out where things were, but the wattage was comparable to that of a lava lamp. The design and décor also struck her quite different and unique. They mirrored the tone she’d gotten from the exterior. She didn’t know a great deal about architecture, but she was picking up a bit of a gothic vibe from it all. She turned back to Veronica, who smiled at her.

“This…this is a beautiful place,” she said. She was being honest and truthful, though she wasn’t sure if she’d call it “classically” beautiful. “Exotically,” maybe. Then again, Phyllis didn’t feel that she herself was quite so classically beautiful either.

“Thank you!” Veronica said brightly. Phyllis took a second to reabsorb her cheerful pulchritude. If she were to be more honest, the vixen’s blonde hair, blue eyes, red dress, ivory skin and radiant personality all seemed lively and vivacious—in stark contrast to the atmosphere of her house. But the last thing Phyllis wanted to do was criticize. Instead, she asked, as innocuously as possible—

“Could we maybe…turn on some more lights?”

“Of course!” nodded Veronica, glad to honor her request. “Go ahead, sit, sit! Get comfy! Make yourself at home!”

They removed their shoes, and her hostess relieved Phyllis of her coat and ascot. She adjourned to the closet, where she hung the former, and pretended to do the same with the latter. But while Phyllis couldn’t see, Veronica tucked her ascot down inside her bra where it would be safely concealed. Her guest unbuttoned the top of her button-up dress shirt, and aired out her sleeves. They perched on the sofa to resume conversation, now without the impairment of bar noise.

Phyllis was enjoying the hell out of this evening. She was really liking Veronica. She was a fascinating conversationalist, and a fascinating person in general. She had a delightful—if borderline naughty—sense of humor, and she laughed at Phyllis’ little joke attempts. Phyllis Dixon’s courting skills were mediocre at best, but Veronica made things easy for her. She told her not to worry, that it was going just fine. Truth be told, Veronica was really quite enjoying the evening herself.

“Wow…are you sure you’re not married?” Phyllis chuckled.

They giggled together. Phyllis loosened up, but she did so just a bit too much, and ran into a bit of an awkward moment. Veronica was in the middle of telling her an amusing anecdote when she noticed that Phyllis’ eyes were wandering. She had absentmindedly and inadvertently homed in on a section of Veronica’s eye candy. Veronica paused her story, curiously asking for verification.

“Are you staring at my breasts?”

Startled, Phyllis immediately whipped her guilty gaze back up to Veronica’s face. The oglee seemed neither pleased nor angry.

“Uh…” she stalled in embarrassment, turning pink in the cheeks. “I…um…”

“I mean, I’m not necessarily saying that’s not cool, I’d just like to know,” Veronica clarified.

“I’m, uh…I’m sorry,” she apologized, dropping her eyes to the floor. “I…guess I was. I, uh…it…I guess, it seemed like there was a lot of cleavage going on there, and, uh…” She winced, hearing how that sounded. “…God, that’s even worse, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” Veronica repeated. “You’re a normal human being; you have normal urges and tendencies. And the same with me. So, I mean…” She coyly shrugged again. “…If you wanna undo a few more of your shirt buttons for me, I think we’d be even.”

Phyllis looked back up at her again. She was smirking suggestively. Isis she asking me to start getting undressed for her?

But just the buttons, she reminded herself.

“Well, if, eh…if that’ll make things cool,” she agreed, going two more buttons down, granting Veronica a peek at her own cleavage.

So Veronica’s funny little story continued, as did their friendly gabbing. At least until the next time Phyllis’ innocent peepers slid a foot downwards from her face. This time she noticed on her own, and covered her eyes with a shake of the head.

God, I’m sorry!” she reiterated, a bit redder. “I-I just…I dunno. I’ll be damned if I have any idea why I keep staring at them.”

“Phyllis, I’m telling you, I really don’t mind it that much,” Veronica insisted. “I told you before, it’s a natural adult impulse. And if it still makes you feel guilty, you can unbutton the rest of your shirt for me. I understand you’re curious about my body, and to tell you the truth, I’m curious about yours too. Hell, if you wanna just take your shirt off for me, you can look at my boobies all night!”

Phyllis turned away and blushed in giggles. She was a bit modest for this bold a move yet, but she undid the rest of her buttons.

“You still seem a little on edge, hon,” Veronica affectionately remarked.

“Well…kinda, yeah,” Phyllis admitted. “I…”

She took a breath. “…This all seems…just…surreal to me. Believe it or not, Veronica, I’ve never had a really serious steady relationship. I mean, I’ve gone on a few dates, but, well, nothing ever came of ’em.”

“No kidding?”

“Yeah, really. I mean, you’re just…oh, for goodness’ sakes, look at you, Veronica, you’re gorgeous. And…well, not that I’m a forest troll or anything myself…” she mused, “But…I never really expected to even meet someone like you, let alone be asked to your place.”

Veronica chuckled. “Well, thank you, my friend. That’s really sweet. But y’know, you don’t have to feel intimidated, or inferior to me—if that’s what’s going through your mind. And you don’t have to be any ‘greater’ than you are, or try to impress me either. I already like you. I asked you to come home with me ’cause I wanted to get to know you more. And because you’re cute.”

Those last four words swelled up in Phyllis like a happy balloon. She smiled, taking and holding Veronica’s hand.

“You really think I’m cute?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed, caressing Phyllis’ cheek with the other hand. “You’ve got a lovely femininity, and you’re easy on the eyes.”

Phyllis felt herself warming up at her touch. Wow, so this is what it feels like to have someone interested in me. She’d harbored plenty of interest in plenty of women in her life, but having a little of it thrown back her way, now that was novel. She was liking this.

“Can I fix you some breakfast?”

“Sorry?”

“Dinner?” Veronica promptly corrected herself. “Can I fix you some dinner?”

*****

You Just Haven’t Earned It Yet, Baby

Wednesday, October 30th, 2013, 9:14 p.m.

Bellies full, they resumed chatting it up and flirting on the couch. Supper was delicious, and Phyllis could barely believe how much she seemed to be falling in like with this girl, and she her. Things continued to progress more swimmingly than she could’ve imagined. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this. When she wasn’t talking, she just smiled tenderly. As the night wore on, Veronica shyly and gradually inched herself closer.

“Phyllis…let me ask you something,” she uttered, caressing her now about the neck and tickling under her chin.

“Sure.”

“Do you trust me?”

Phyllis stopped smiling, her eyes abruptly widening just a bit.

“…Why?”

Veronica laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, nothing. I’m-I’m just asking, based on how much you know me so far…do you trust me?”

She gave a matter-of-fact shrug. “Well, I…I guess so, yeah. I’d say I trust you.”

Veronica’s lips curled up into a lovely, both playful and sexy grin. She took Phyllis’ hands and kissed her. A warm rush settled over them as their velvety lips melted together. She extended to reach inside Phyllis’ shirt and hug her around the middle. They pulled closer and still closer, slumping together against the back of the couch. Veronica’s hands slid up her torso until reaching her shoulders, and eased her shirt off of them. Now getting very excited, Phyllis eagerly drew her arms out of the sleeves and removed the shirt, letting it drop behind her. Veronica surreptitiously slipped her hand in between her tits, checking to make sure Phyllis’ ascot was there where she’d secretly placed it. With the other she caressed Phyllis’ now naked back and shoulders. A few moments later, they broke from the kiss. Batting her smoky, persuasive eyes, Veronica murmured, “Then come with me, please.”

They rose from the couch, and Veronica led her by the hand to a different room. When she flipped on the light, Phyllis saw a large desk, occupied by several devices, a hundred different pens, pencils, brushes and other writing/drawing implements, an inkwell, a dozen varieties of paper in a dozen sizes, and a huge bookshelf, overstuffed with so many books some of them piled on the floor.

“Ah…so…where are we?” Phyllis asked.

“My study-slash-office,” said Veronica, silently shutting the door behind. “Where I do all my work.” She slipped her arm around Phyllis, gazing into her eyes, permeating the air with irresistible seduction. She leaned to her ear and lowered her voice to a whisper.

ALLmy work.”

For a moment, Phyllis wasn’t sure what she meant by this. There was no need to be confused in the next few minutes, however, as Veronica took her hands, linked their fingers, and again wished to know—

You said you trusted me, Phyllis, yes?

She slowly nodded, unsettlingly curious as to why this kept coming up.

“Yeah…?”

A smile. “Then do just that.”

Veronica pulled out the chair from the middle of the desk and positioned Phyllis in its place, right beneath one of the fixtures on the eight-foot-high ceiling. Holding on to her right wrist with her left hand, Veronica whipped out the ascot from her breasts, took Phyllis’ left wrist, crossed one hand over the other, and started binding them together.

Unaware if she should be suspecting anything just yet, Phyllis asked, “Um…what’s…going on?”

“Oh, you’re gonna see, in just a minute, my dear…” smiled Veronica. She stepped atop the chair and gingerly brought Phyllis’ arms up with her. “Now please, if you’d just be so kind to stand on your tippy-toes for me, Phyllis…”

With Veronica holding onto her now, there wasn’t much point in trying to go anywhere, so she did as her hostess said.

“There’s a good lass. Now don’t you worry your pretty little head about this…” Veronica went on, tugging on the ascot till she got just all the slack she needed, double-knotting it to the ceiling fixture. “This is extra sturdy. You can’t do anything to break it.”

Satisfied her guest was now secured, she lowered herself to the floor.

“…Are we…uh…doing something kinky?” Phyllis guessed, a tiny bit weirded-out, yet undeniably intrigued by her initiative.

“Mm, you might say that,” Veronica replied, caressing her collarbone. The next thing she did was trot behind her, climb up onto her desk and gingerly unclasp Phyllis’ bra from the back, letting it drop to the floor. She subsequently returned to as well unfasten her suit trousers. Her expression intensified, but she was a bit powerless to stop her. There wasn’t any point left for Veronica to hold back at this point. Once they were undone, she reached around the back, took hold of both Phyllis’ slacks and panties, and zhoop!

Phyllis was instantly naked in front of her. She was quite startled, but certainly not turned off, not in the least.

“And, step out, please.” Again, she obeyed Veronica, who collected up the garments. Her next stop was the shelves, where she moved some books to reveal dual sets of fuzzy velvet handcuffs. Returning to Phyllis’ right, Veronica knelt on the floor beside her.

“Leg, s’il vous plaît...” She proceeded to secure Phyllis’ right ankle to the desk leg. She next crossed around and did the same with her left. Once she was done, she took a step back and smiled.

“Beautiful. Now, Phyllis, at this point, I feel I should ask you again…do you still trust me?”

She wasn’t totally sure anymore. “…Why exactly do you keep asking?”

Veronica slipped her arms around her guest’s sides and looked into her eyes, with an expression cleverly disguised as benevolence. “Well, because, if you still do…” she explained, her lips curling up into an impish smile—

“Then, I must be even more cunning than I thought.”

Phyllis’ eyes widened a bit, raising her brows.

“…Huh??”

“Well, either that, or you really are a trusting, naïve innocent. But it’s okay, sweetheart; that’s very endearing.”

Eh…ruh-roh.

“…What do you mean, Veronica?”

“Phyllis, I have a confession to make…” Veronica began, starting to blush.

“…Remember that meter maid who stopped you at your car tonight?”

“Yeah?…”

“Well…you were right. You didn’t go over the limit.”

“I’m…sorry?”

“She’s a friend of mine.”

“What?”

“Yeah, we, uh…set the whole thing up.”

“Wha—…you mean she’s not a real meter maid?”

“Oh, no, she’s definitely a real meter maid. We wouldn’t have been able to pull this off otherwise. Y’know when I said I needed to go to the girls’ room? I was in there a while, right? Well, while I was in there, I gave her a call. We like to keep an eye out for cuties who come into the bar, so we spotted you, and I told her to open the meter where you parked, and make it say ‘expired.’”

“W—…what??

“…Yyyyyyeah, so…” Veronica hesitated, feigning embarrassment, “…You’re not crazy or anything. You did still have time on there.”

“But, h—…” Phyllis tried to process this. “But-but…w—…why would you do that?”

“Well, so I could come to your rescue, get you out of the ticket, and earn your trust, of course!”

“So…you…deceived me…in order to gain my trust??

Veronica nodded proudly. “Mm-hm! And as you can see…” She stroked one finger down Phyllis’ side. “…It worked perfectly!”

“Bu—…” Phyllis reflexively struggled with the bonds, even though she knew she couldn’t go anywhere. She was about to ask why Veronica’d think she wouldn’t trust her, but she was beginning to figure that out. “S—…so what is this, you’re just…kidnapping me?”

“Well…essentially…yeah, I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” cooed Veronica, stroking and fondling her way down her captive’s midsection, and subtly petting her bush. “But, perhaps only temporarily.”

“‘Perhaps only temporarily’?”

“Right. Allow me to enlighten you as to what’s gonna happen, Phyllis, dear,” said Veronica, a sweet smirk playing about her face.

“We’re gonna play a little game. It’s fun; you’ll like it.” She held her hands behind her back and rocked on her heels, the sweet smirk on her lips graduating to a full grin.

“Wanna hear the rules?”

Phyllis’ face was now growing scared and nervous. “Um…do I have a choice?”

Veronica chuckled. “That’s a good point. No, not really you don’t.

“Okay, so it’s pretty simple,” she explained. “It’s a bet. Right now it’s…” She checked the time. “…Exactly 11:00.

“Now, Phyllis, honey, here’s the deal. I’m gonna start…teasing you. Y’know…‘down there.’ And, I’m gonna bet you…that I can get you to cum for me…” She paused for effect, peeking slyly down at Phyllis’ finely groomed, barely damp pussy. It gave a small twitch at the saucy way Veronica was laying it all out, and especially the chirpy way she said, “cum.”

“…And I mean really cum,” Veronica stated cheerfully. “A full-fledged orgasm…by 12:00 straight up. That’s the bet: that I can force you to cum by the stroke of midnight. Here…”

She moved her digital desk clock to the bookcases where they could clearly see the glowing numbers.

“But the twist is…” she went on, circling the desk to retrieve one particular item, “…I have to make you cum…”

Phyllis’ exposed, moistening cunt was already working towards swelled arousal as Veronica ambled back and finished.

“…Using nothing but this.”

She held up the prop she’d fetched: a long, stiff feather quill. Phyllis grew both stimulated and intimidated at the sight.

Veronica smiled, starting by tickling Phyllis’ cheek, letting the feather blade glide down her face to her neck, and continue south.

“And, eh…” her hostess and captress went on, “As to the results…if I win—i.e., if I can successfully force you to cum with this feather, in the next fifty-nine minutes…” She leaned up to whisper in her victim’s ear.

I get to keep you, as my sex slave.”

Phyllis abruptly whirled on her in a mixture of fright and intense arousal. Veronica’s shady, malicious smile swelled her clit erect.

“Uh…” she said with a gulp, “And wh-what, um…what happens if, uh…?”

“I’m ever so glad you asked. If I can’t make you cum by midnight with my little friend here…” continued Veronica, brandishing the feather at her, “…Or, if I have to use my hand, or mouth, or anything else to do it…

“Then you get to keep me as your sex slave.”

Phyllis’ heart starting pounding wildly through her chest. “…Really?” she asked, both a bit skeptic and rather fascinated.

“Well, if you see fit. Actually, Phyllis…if you win, love, you can have absolutely anything you want from me. Literally, anything your innocent heart desires. That, my lovely lady, is the bet,” confirmed Veronica. She stood up on her chair again. “Is it a deal?”

Allowing her no time to say anything, Veronica clasped her right tied hand in the ceiling fixture, and shook it. “Oh, good!”

She hopped back down off the chair. Phyllis scowled at her with a “Come on, that’s not fair” expression. But she doubted a mere feather held the power to coerce an entire orgasm out of her. Still, Veronica was grinning with satisfaction.

“A’right, missy!” she purred, leering as she twirled the feather, “Let’s see how much you can take.”

And so it began. Veronica swirled, stroked, waved and slid the blade of the feather up and down her slit, nice and slow, culling out an initial, raspy “Oh, God.” Phyllis’ head went back until she could see her hands in the ceiling fixture. She could hear her blonde tormentor chuckling. She felt the overwhelming sensation ride her up and down…over and over…again and again…endlessly. Phyllis felt her twitching clit harden until it vulnerably bulged out. After five minutes of this ticklish escapade, it would seem Phyllis had underestimated this toy. It was already starting to driving her crazy. The feather was eight inches long, weighed two mere ounces, and was making her slowly go insane. Another minute, and she was begging Veronica to please stop so she could catch her breath.

“‘Please stop?!” Veronica parroted with a laugh. “How’s that gonna help me win?”

The first several minutes dragged, feeling like hours as the playful teasing grew to sheer torture. At 11:10, Veronica finally paused.

“Okay, babe, you get a little break,” she decided. She put the quill down, simply so she could proceed to take each of her own articles of clothing off. As Phyllis and her womanhood watched her strip, she felt herself becoming yet more turned on.

“Ah,” sighed Veronica, now as naked as her girl-toy. “That’s better, huh?” Back to Phyllis, she stretched, giving her a show before returning to the audience participation. “Oh, gosh, I think I left something down here…” she mused, spreading her legs, bending to the floor, giving the girl an exquisite view of her pussy and ass. Phyllis was inclined to object, “Hey, that’s cheating!” But, her hostess made the rules, and said nothing about stacking them in her favor with her own nudity. And Phyllis still had fifty, minutes…to go.

“Nope, my mistake,” Veronica corrected, standing to clap dust off her hands. “’Righty, my friend, shall we get back to the torture?”

On went the bet. This time Veronica guided the feather just a little further back, so as not to leave out the taint and ass as well. Phyllis was starting to seriously lose it. She lifted her feet just the inch or two she was allowed off the floor. OHMYGOD, she reiterated in her mind. How much time was there left now…she tried to focus her vision and register the clock.

Elevenis that a three? Oh—no, damn it, it’s a two. 11:20?...Still forty minutes?! Oh, hell…she didn’t think she would make it.

11:25: “Oh-kay…you want another break, hon?” asked Veronica.

She nodded desperately. Her hostess granted her one.

“All right, enjoy it while it lasts,” Veronica said. She was about to put the quill back down again, when she stopped momentarily and said, “Actually…y’know what? This might be a good time for us to have a little, uh…chat.”

Phyllis gasped for breath, her swelling cunt turning crimson. “…Ch-chat about what?” she finally sputtered out.

“Well, you know, Phyllis…I think I really like you…” Veronica started. “…Well, I mean, obviously; why would I ask you home with me if I didn’t, but…there’s something you should know about me. I hesitate to say it, ’cause, well, it’s a little out of the ordinary. It might, kinda…frighten you a little, quite frankly. But I really do care for you, so I think you deserve to know this.”

Phyllis felt a little disappointed that Veronica apparently was about to tell her something she didn’t want to hear or wouldn’t like, but at least it would bring her closer to midnight without being agonizingly tantalized by an infernal feather.

“And there’s really no way to say this other than to just come right out with it,” Veronica went on. “So I’m gonna do just that. Phyllis, my name really is Veronica Upland, but there’s one other thing you need to know about me.

“…I’m a witch.”

Phyllis looked at her expressionlessly for a few seconds.

“…You mean…tomorrow?” she finally asked. “…For trick-or-treat? For, like, a party or something?”

“Mmm, no,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I mean…every day. It’s…my identity, honey. It’s who I am.”

Phyllis stared with a face she’d never made before.

“…Ph—…Phyllis?” Veronica finally said, met only with the same bizarre look. “Sweetie?...Talk to me, please.”

“Uhhhh…” she finally said, “…I, uh…I don’t believe in witches.”

Veronica frowned.

“Well, that makes me very sad, Phyllis. I really wish you did, ’cause…well, here I am, standing right in front of you.”

Phyllis was utterly flabbergasted, drawn suddenly in this strange direction. She felt something very upsetting descending on her.

“The, uh…the only, uh…‘witches’ I know are mean ladies,” she stated confoundedly.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that with me, hon,” said Veronica. “I’m a nice witch. Still a witch, but…I’m-I’m a good witch.”

The next thing Phyllis did she did not fully understand. She turned away and sighed, blowing out her breath in dismay.

“What’s the matter?” Veronica wanted to know, almost a little hurt by this reaction.

Phyllis’ pessimistic, cynical side came out. “I…I just—I should have known,” she scoffed.

“Should have known what?”

Phyllis stared at the floor, uncomfortably digging her toes into the carpet.

“A real, actual woman…genuinely seeming to like me,” she sourly groused. “That had to be phony. I knew it. It was a fluke.”

Veronica started to react, but she kept going.

“Boy, I’ll tell you, Veronica…I’ve met a few girls who came up with some pretty interesting ways of letting me down ‘easy,’ but this…” She shook her head. “This is a new one, even on me. I mean, someone as beautiful as you, asking me—me!—to go home with you…I knew there had to be a catch somewhere. I knew it; I knew this was too good to be true. God, I’m such a fucking loser.”

“Wha—…no, Phyllis, no!” Veronica insisted, her tone filling with sympathy. “You’ve got it all wrong! That’s not it at all! I’m telling you the truth! Phyllis, sweetie, I swear, my name really is Veronica, I really am a good witch, and I really do like you!”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded sarcastically. “Sure. Y’know what, you were right: I am obviously too trusting. So, what, you figured you’d just have your way with me, cast a little spell on me, and that’d be that?”

Veronica could tell the situation had turned serious, and that Phyllis was hurt now, which in turn hurt and scared her. “Phyllis, you don’t understand!” she insisted. “If that’s all I wanted, I could’ve just kidnapped you, fucked you, and shoved you out the door. But it’s not! I don’t wanna shove you out the door! Honey, for hell’s sake,” she chuckled, trying to lighten things up, “Why in the world would I wanna make you my sex slave if I didn’t want you around??”

Phyllis said nothing.

“Babe, I am a perfectly normal, sweet woman in every other way. I just happened to be born with a supernatural power that belongs to Wiccans. And that’s really all that makes me a witch! Please, how can I make you believe me?”

Phyllis hesitated. “Veronica…” she sighed in exasperation, “…Actual witches…don’t exist. They-they’re mythical. They’re not real.”

Veronica’s face turned disappointed again. She looked down at Phyllis’ still dampened red pussy, then back up at her face. Slowly, her expression turned shifty…as her lips worked up to a sneaky, roguish smile, thinking of a way to convince her to change her mind.

“Are you, uh…”

She lowered into a crouch to concentrate, aligned the feather lengthwise to the opening of Phyllis’ cunt—so that the feather tip just barely brushed her stiff clit—and held it there, as she asked…

“…Sureabout that?

Phyllis involuntarily threw her head back with a breathless, forced gasping scream, as Veronica sorcerously shot an injection of raging, blazing white-hot passion through her, touching her still with nothing but the feather. Phyllis’ fragile pussy immediately blew a spurt of pre-cum. She could barely keep her eyes open, or from rolling straight back, but she thought she saw the lights in the room flickering on and off at this overpowering sensation, before Veronica finally released her from her explosive spell. When she at last broke contact, both the feather and Phyllis’ cunt were glazed in pre-cum.

When she realized the witch had eased her from this new level of madness, Phyllis heaved out her breath, trying to recover and refocus. “OH my God!” she exclaimed. “What the fucking hell was that??

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey bunny,” Veronica teased calmly, grinning up at her from her crouch. “Was that too…intense for you?”

She gaped for oxygen, trying just to hold onto a modicum of sanity.

“You see, Phyllis?” she cooed, both persuasively and mischievously. “I really am a good witch, but…I can be very bad if I want to.”

Phyllis was still blinking and trying only to breathe steady. They looked at the clock. 11:34. Veronica winked, waving the feather.

“Well! Twenty-six minutes left. Guess we’d better get back on with this, huh?”

“Uh, Veronica…I-I don’t know if I can take any mOHHHHHGOD!” Phyllis bawled as the blonde sorceress cut her off with more ruthless pussy tickling terror. She rapidly dribbled more pre-cum down her labia.

“You know what, Phyllis?...” She felt the feather swish around her leg as Veronica crossed behind.

“…Why don’t we get a little more personal?”

“Uh-oh…” Phyllis uttered helplessly. “Am I about to hate you?”

Veronica laughed, climbing back up onto her desk.

“Well, I certainly hope not! I was just kinda wondering, sweetie…have you, uh…”

Phyllis felt the prickly, uneasy sensation creeping up on her bum. She heard the sultry voice and felt the warm breath on her back.

“…Ever been fuckedby a feather?

The tingle driving her crazy seemed to penetrate her asshole, but she couldn’t tell for sure. However, once Veronica in fact slipped the tip of the feather inside, Phyllis did feel inclined to spring out of her skin and shriek, “RAPE!!” But she didn’t. She tried to hold herself under relative control. Her voice did jump about three octaves, though.

“Or perhaps I should say, ever been fucked by a nice witch holding a feather?”

Her ripe, spent pussy wanted to blow. Right now. But Veronica planned otherwise. There were twenty minutes left, and she wanted to enjoy all of them messing with Phyllis. She was pretty damn turned on herself. She descended back off her desk before she started to leak happy pussy drops on it. When she decided Phyllis had endured enough cruel assplay, she went back to tormenting her sopping, burning pussy and her rock-hard clit, whirling and swirling the feather all over her. The poor dame’s face was red and sweating. She was dying. Veronica meanwhile fondled herself at the same time, fingers finding their way through the labial gates.

What she really wanted to do was slather chocolate sauce all over those red, hot, searing pussy lips, go in tongue first and suck out the sweet, thick cream…or drop the quill and manually plunge her poor victim’s cunt until she couldn’t see straight…

But those were no-nos according to her own rules of this little game. She’d have to settle for letting the feather do all the work and have all the fun. The action went on escalating. She checked the clock. 11:47. For Phyllis, the minutes were still seeming to just drag on forever. It didn’t look like she could take too much more, and truth be told, Veronica wasn’t that far behind her. With just over ten minutes left, she had to momentarily stop, sit and wipe her forehead.

“Phyllis, darling?” she called up to her.

“Yes?...” her captive replied, weak and dizzy.

“’S 11:50…you wanna keep going, or you want a break?”

She looked down at her hostess, blinking away the fuzziness. “You’re asking me?”

Despite her supernature, Veronica was getting pretty dizzy and weak herself. She didn’t want to admit to Phyllis just how much of an impact all this was having on her, or undermine her own power, but she didn’t think she’d have to worry that much. Besides, as she rejoined in response to Phyllis’ query, the break wouldn’t be longer than a minute…

“And I’m still gonna get your cum anyway,” she smiled, wickedly toying with her.

Phyllis’ dazed, confused mind wasn’t sure what to make of this, or anything this evening anymore. Her dripping, throbbing pussy and blood-engorged clit, on the other hand, were absolutely in love with Veronica…and her feather quill.

PLEASE let me cum, the cunt begged all of them—its owner, the witch, and the quill—PLEEEEEASEI’m dying to cum… Unable to focus so hard on the perils of being Veronica’s sex slave, Phyllis was caring less and less in whose favor this bet came out. She was gravely needing to just, as her coochie so eloquently stated, cum already. Even still, she didn’t know how to answer. A coherent answer would have required the capability to think straight.

“Okay, tell you what,” Veronica said, pushing herself up from the chair and laying the feather to rest. “I’ll give you a sixty-second break. So this, therefore, doesn’t count.”

Standing at her side, touching no other area of her body, Veronica stood on her toes, took Phyllis’ face and laid a long, hot, literally bewitching kiss on her, possessing and enchanting her in every sense of the words. Phyllis’ nipples hardened, nubbing out to try to feel Veronica’s brush them. But Veronica held her tits just out of her reach. Both pussies dripped more liquid pleasure down their thighs. Veronica’s wanted to know when it would be allowed to join the party.

Next time, its owner told it.

Oh, come on! the pussy complained. If hers gets to play, why don’t I?

Because that’s not the plan this time. Tell you what, next time I’ll make her cunniling-us, how’s that?

Oh-kay

By the time the kiss concluded, it was 11:55. “All right, hon,” Veronica leered, picking up the feather. “Ready to hand it over now?”

Phyllis was wheezing too hard to answer. But again of course, she felt the hellish sensation sending her through this perpetual whirlwind, the cursed feather swishing up and down, up and down, up and down. Veronica wanted to make this a night Phyllis could never forget. And while she needn’t worry about that in the least, she too wanted it to be as intense as physically possible.

At 11:58, the witch blondie paused briefly one more time.

So, then, Phyllis…”

Her eyes fluttered open.

“May I now safely presume then that you believe in me?”

Oh, this again… thought Phyllis. She sighed, trying to find appropriate words and place them in proper order.

“Veronica…really…” Phyllis breathlessly gasped, “…I…I want to believe you’re a…a witch, but…I j—I just can’t. I…I was brought up to think logically, and…and to distinguish fact from fiction, and…and what’s real, and-and what’s not. I…I’m sorry, Veronica, I just…

“…I just don’t believe in real witches.”

Hmmwhat a shame.

“Phyllis…” Veronica uttered ominously, staring her in the face. She dropped her voice to a whisper.

“…Look me in the eyesand say that again.”

This was difficult, gazing into her dreamy face to utter these unfortunate words, but Phyllis obeyed. Or…started to.

“Veronica…I don’t bel—”

Her speech was interrupted, as before her own very eyes, Veronica’s irises changed suddenly, from blue, to bright red. Phyllis’ voice morphed into a shrieking cry of fright and horror. Veronica again dimmed the lights with her powers as her eyes transformed and glowed, boring into Phyllis’ soul. They narrowed down as her lips curled up once again into her terrifying evil smile, and she heard the witch’s voice whisper to her.

It’s midnight, Phyllis, my dear

“…Trick or treat.”

Just as she had before, she lined the feather with the length of Phyllis’ pussy and mercilessly tickled, lighting the sexfire under her once more. Phyllis shut her eyes, screamed, and moaned, as every inch of her sizzled and crackled with the same torrid passion Veronica’d forced on her earlier. And before she knew what happened, the witch jolted her clit with her black magic, and it was over.

She erupted. Her cum and excess sprayed out with far fiercer velocity than she ever could’ve achieved on her own. It was incredible and unbearable. She couldn’t take it, and at the same time, didn’t want it to ever stop. An indeterminable while later, when Veronica at last concluded she had nothing left, she lifted the spell, letting her back down to Earth. Her hysterical shrieking had almost cost her her voice. She exhaled a series of post-cum groans and coughs before things returned to (relatively) normal.

Her body slumped over, only the ascot keeping her from collapsing in an exhausted heap. Veronica could see she’d be out for a bit, so she changed her eyes back to their normal soft blue, brought the lights up, sat in her chair, spread her legs, opened herself up, gazed at the delicate feminine form dangling unconsciously in front of her…and began teasing her own pussy with the feather, until she finally took herself to heaven where she’d just sent Phyllis. She didn’t fall asleep, though both orgasms had drained her energy as well. She took her time to the bathroom, returned, dressed and sat back down, affectionately watching her sex slave recover.

*****

All Slaves’ Eve (Some Love Is Just A Lie Of The Heart)

Thursday, October 31st, 2013, 12:37 a.m.

“Mmm…” Phyllis stirred to life, shaking her head. “Hm?”

Veronica, scribbling on one of her large pads of paper, looked up to see that she’d awoken.

“Well, hello there, sweet thing!” she greeted, hopping up to kiss her. “I was wondering when you were gonna wake up!”

Her slave blinked herself fully awake, trying to recall what was going on.

“…What?”

“Welcome back!” she smiled beatifically. Phyllis could see her eyes were blue and the lights were up. “Did you have a nice nap?”

“Uh…” She yawned. “Yeah, I…I guess so.”

“Wonderful,” remarked Veronica. “Feel any different being a slave?”

Phyllis blinked again and opened her eyes wide. “W—…what?” she repeated.

“Well, you remember our little game, don’t you? I made you cum, at midnight, so you’re my sex slave now.”

She looked at the witch, suddenly very alarmed.

“Oh my God…you mean that…wasn’t a dream??”

“Well, of course not, my pet! Surely you can discern that you’re awake now, and still secured to my desk, yes?”

Phyllis turned petrified. “I…but…y—…wai-wait a second, you…you mean you’re really gonna…just keep me here??”

“Well, of course not, silly!”

Phyllis exhaled. “Oh. Whew. Well, that’s a relief.”

Veronica laughed, kissing her. “Certainly, my dear! I mean, I definitely plan to untie you. You won’t be able to wait on me and serve me all the time when you’re just locked up in my study, now will you?”

Phyllis’ relief was again replaced by panic. “Y—…that’s what I meant!” she said. “You are? You’re just gonna…hold me prisoner??”

“Well, that’s not a very nice choice of words.

“Phyllis, darling, seriously, slave or no slave, you’re gonna love me!” insisted Veronica. “And you’re gonna love it here with me! I’m telling you, even though you’re my slave, you won’t even notice it. I’m going to treat you like a queen! I’m gonna feed you, I’m gonna love you, I’m gonna give you a great home!”

“Th—…wh—…y—…that’s insane!” Phyllis finally blurted. “That’s ridiculous! I’m not a dog, Veronica, I’m a woman! I’m a grown human being! I have my own life!” she asserted. “I have a family! I already have my own home, and I have a job!

“W—honey, calm down!” said Veronica. “It’s okay! Your life doesn’t have to stop just ’cause you’re my sex slave. It’s not like I’m never gonna let you see the sun again, for heaven’s sake! I’ll be more than happy to visit you at your place, and I’d love to meet your family. And we can go out and have fun together…as long as you’re not foolish enough to try to run away from me. And I doubt that; you’re a smart lady, I can tell. Really, Phyllis, honest to goodness, I promise you…this is gonna be the most fun you’ve ever had.”

“But—” Phyllis sighed, pulling on the restraints. “All right, j—…okay, I won’t run away, just, would you mind untying me, please??”

“Of course!” Veronica gladly obliged. “And you don’t have to start being my slave right away; let’s get a little sleep first.”

“Veronica…” Phyllis muttered, shaking her now freed wrists, “This—…this seems pretty unrealistic. I mean, I…uh…I like you and all…I think you’re a beautiful, lovely girl, but…well, even leaving the witch thing out of it for a sec…I don’t even know you.”

Veronica set her ankles free as well and hugged her. “It’s okay, honey; we have plenty of time for that. You’ll grow to love me, and I you. We’ll have a wonderful, splendid life together. And, of course…the sex is gonna be way fucking hotter than you ever imagined.”

“Mm…yeah, but, uh…” As good as her hug felt, Phyllis pushed herself out of it just enough to look at her face to face. “Supposing that…like…doesn’t happen? I mean…what if I don’t end up loving you?”

As Veronica gazed at her, her expression didn’t change, but she did notice the lights dim again. She let out a gasp.

“Don’t worry, my pretty. You will.”

Phyllis got the message. It was a pretty effective conviction that her love for Veronica would manifest its presence one way or another. They held hands and kissed. She had to admit, Veronica was an unbelievable kisser, and she loved the way their breasts pressed up together as they embraced. Well, maybe this didn’t seem quite as insane as it did five minutes ago, but…

“What about my job?”

“No big deal. Tell me how to get in touch with them, and I’ll persuade them to give you a nice, long vacation.

“Now then…” Veronica said, holding Phyllis tenderly, being gentle after what she’d just put her through. “Phyllis, dear…your owner would like to take you to bed and fall asleep peacefully in your arms…will you come?” She started leading her out by the hand.

Given all they’d just done together, Phyllis Dixon didn’t see cause for shock in that suggestion. And she could undoubtedly use the rest. This evening had really taken it out of her, on several levels. Well, it looked as though she had found someone who knew how to challenge her. Talk about being challenged indeed, she thought. Looking back at the encounter inside LesBeers and circumstances surrounding it, versus all that had just happened here in Veronica’s home, Phyllis could now clearly see why she’d been intimidated going there in the first place. She was sure not every girl who hung out at LesBeers was a genuine Wiccan sorceress, but…the fact that the one and only chick she’d met there was, did not help convince her. Perhaps fate misunderstood her. When she’d thought she wanted a woman to challenge her, this was not exactly what she had in mind. She looked troubled still, Veronica noted.

“Honey?...What’s wrong?”

“Veronica…I’m…I’m just not sure I feel too good about this whole thing.”

Her eyes softened once again with sympathy. She returned to Phyllis and gave her another comforting, affectionate hug. “Aw, honey…you just need some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. I promise.” She continued to lead her towards the bedroom.

“But, Veronica…a—…um…are you sure about this?”

Her new owner turned slowly back around.

Why, but of course, Phyllis…” she whispered, batting her limpid, feminine, red eyes…

“…Don’t you trust me?

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