Originally published May 2016 as Smokey Saga #63
Here’s an intriguing little yarn, similar to “Do You Trust Me?” in several aspects. And like “Trust Me,” this was lots of fun to write. Not that penning my others has been a pain or anything, but this was another I knew was good as soon as its draft was finished. It’s another involving BDSM, lez-dom, and it sort of rides the line between consensual and non-, but I wouldn’t say violates any serious boundaries. There is, however, as per my BDSM tales, a playful cruel streak that runs through it. All in the name of sizzling hot fun and games, of course. It’s edgy, and profane, but good. DO please enjoy, my friends, and as always, feedback’s welcomed, valued and appreciated.
Post-note: I changed the story image on 1-5. As interesting and unique I felt the original was, it occurred to me it might be a bit over the top. I trust the new picture will prove less overwhelming to Readers. Thanks.
Saturday, April 23rd, 2016, 9:47 a.m.
Dawn, as it had a fairly regular way of doing, dawned. It was a beautiful thing to behold: springtime Saturday.
Citizens of Juniper pursuing weekday occupations slept in and took it easy. Business picked up at leisure outlets such as stores and restaurants. Children awoke to favorite cartoons and then it was outside to play with their friends. Baseball and softball season were underway. Yard sales dotted every other suburban neighborhood. And Miss Sylvia Quibley was bored out of her ever-loving skull.
47-year-old Sylvia was the last surviving member of the wealthy Quibley dynasty. The payoff—quite literally—was that she’d become heiress of her family’s multitrillion-dollar estate. She lived in the Quibley family manor on her own, but by no means was alone in the colossal mansion. She was accompanied and catered to on a daily basis by her staff: dozens of butlers, maids, and additional servants taking turns doing her bidding. Their servant skills were impeccable. This was, after all, what they were paid for. They toiled tirelessly around the clock, tending to both the welfare of their beloved heiress and the household in general. Still, Sylvia couldn’t help wishing more and more lately that her servants were paid as well to be her friends. To just hang out with her. Or more.
It wasn’t as if she wished to selfishly take advantage of her employees for her own gain. It also wasn’t like Sylvia was isolated while the staff did their thing elsewhere. She had plenty of interaction with them, mostly in the form of waiting on her. But to Sylvia’s disenchantment, the staff was, well, stiff. Too “professional,” were there such a concept. As much as she tried to laugh and joke around with them, the most she got out of the servants was a polite smile and a, “Delightful, Madame.”
While Sylvia wouldn’t count this as a complaint, it left her feeling disconcerted nevertheless. As if being doted on day by day by a collection of robots, or Stepford Spouses. If, heaven forbid, Sylvia found herself in any form of dire peril, and cried out for help, she’d no doubt her servants would come to her rescue. Whether they’d display any real emotion in doing so was the question. At times, she had to fight off the urge to poke, goose, or tickle them, just to see if she could get a reaction.
It occurred to her more than once to get a pet, but some of the staff were allergic. Also, Sylvia preferred a companion who could talk and share personality. But while she waited to find one, there were also times she was glad for her privacy. The last several years unearthed a plethora of hobbies for Sylvia to enjoy. In due time she’d meandered through reading, hiking, online networking, crocheting, playing polo, writing poetry, origami, and the contents of her sizable game room. Finally, the last year had brought along Sylvia Quibley’s newest pastime, of which she’d grown most fond: painting.
Her super-sized study was converted accordingly for each passing fancy. It was now turned into a studio, occupied by easels, palettes and watercolors, her chosen medium. She’d dabbled in oils and acrylics, but at the end of the day found that the good old-fashioned aquarelles served her best. She did nature works, country settings, abstracts, a few uncategorized miscellanies, and the occasional self-portrait. She couldn’t keep all her canvases, so some she framed and hung. Others she scrapped, gave to friends or donated elsewhere. She’d yet to have any professionally displayed, but didn’t mind; painting was an excursion for her own enjoyment and pleasure, that was all.
Similarly, it would be nice to unveil a finished piece for a servant and be met with more than another, “Delightful, Madame”…but Sylvia couldn’t really expect that either. Men and girls Friday who took employ in such an upscale environment respected the chain of command far too much to tamper with it. They didn’t fraternize, little as Sylvia would’ve minded. They simply went about their duties. And Sylvia didn’t want them to slough off completely; maybe just take a break for a minute to keep her company, and alleviate her utter boredom. Canvases were nice to work on and admire, but they couldn’t converse, tell Sylvia amusing stories, or laugh at her jokes.
Friendship was not the only interaction Sylvia missed in her life. A romantic or sexual playmate would be just as nice to have about—but a big no-no where servants were concerned. Being her own sexual playmate was fine, but got repetitive. There were lots of ways to spice up her private happy time: digging into her stash of toys and pornography, experimenting with different techniques…but cuddling up in bed and whispering sweet nothings to a dildo was rather pointless and silly.
Sylvia knew what a challenge it was to find a soulmate—or a suitable substitute—for normal nontrillion-heirs. In her case, there was also the factor of money. Off-grounds, she could pretend to be middle-class with someone else, but only keep it up so long before wanting to take her home. Wealth could go a good way towards “convincing” a woman to have feelings for her, but Sylvia wished to be desired on her own merits. She was decent, kind-hearted, and she liked to think attractive and funny. In middle age-dom, she was getting wrinkle-worn in the kisser and going silver on top. And honestly, she didn’t mind it much. Although there was ashy snow on the roof, there was still a fire in the cellar. And while she could afford enough hair dye and facial cream to last the rest of her life, she didn’t feel it necessary. When she looked in the mirror, her wrinkles and silveriness gave her a sense of being almost supernatural. Like a wise withered old sage, who might just be able to cast a magic spell. She couldn’t…but it was fun to imagine.
Then sometimes the thought was placed in her mind how to describe her perfect woman. Such a person may not have existed, but Sylvia’s taste was pretty eclectic. She hadn’t really any specific “type”; she was interested in all sorts of gals: younger, older, blonde, brunette, ginger, race or ethnicity notwithstanding. Physical characteristics weren’t more vital than those of one’s persona. Then again, even should she meet a girl who was nice on the surface, take her home and discover her true colors, Sylvia believed she could “persuade” said girl to conduct herself with a bit more benevolence, via…other means.
She smirked at the reflection in her compact as she sat this morning in her big comfy recliner, bare, pedicured peds wagging on the footrest. One of her gentleman-servants, a fellow called Chippers, passed by.
“Would you prefer breakfast here in the living room, Miss Quibley?”
“That’d be only lovely, Chip, thank you,” she gratefully nodded up at him. “Oh, and could you turn on the TV for me, please? Thanks so much, buddy.”
Chippers switched on the set, then adjourned to the kitchen to have the chef prepare Sylvia’s Saturday morning fare: two eggs sunny side up on French toast, two pigs in buttermilk blankets under a drizzle of blueberry syrup, and a nice big glass of fresh-squeezed OJ. A short spell later saw Sylvia enjoying both the repast, and her second half-hour of TV.
“Will there be anything else, Madame?” asked Chippers.
Yes, please: a woman. A cute little thing with bangs, dimples and a big heart who laughs at my jokes would be nice.
“No, hon, I’m fine. But…hey, why don’t you take a little break. Yeah, actually, sit and check out the tube with me a while. Go ahead.”
Chippers made a strange face.
“…Miss Quibley, I really should be off to tend to your chambers,” he said, starting away.
“Oh—please?” Sylvia asked, reaching for his elbow. “Chip? Please, just…just, hang out with me a little?...It would mean a lot to me.”
Sylvia grinned. “Yeah!” She smacked the sofa cushion beside her invitingly. “C’mon, grab some plush! Knock a load off!”
Chippers felt awkward and unsure about this, having practically never done anything like it before, but he wandered over and sat.
“There ya go!” praised Sylvia, patting his knee. “Good! So what’s your favorite show?”
This made Chippers uncomfy. But Miss Quibley’s wishes were the staff’s command, even if said wishes went against their code of professionalism. So he supposed since she had specifically requested his company, he was within boundaries to perch on the sofa, and “hang out” with her. This seemed highly unusual. But, if it was what Madame wanted…
The simple question she’d just put forth, however, confounded him.
“I…really haven’t any favorite programs, Miss Quibley.”
Wacky as Sylvia found this to believe, she sensed he was uneasy about sitting to take a break when he felt performing his duties was the right thing to do. But…gol-ly, she thought. Okay, just…small steps.
“All right, well, let’s just do some channel surfing and see what happens.”
So Sylvia flipped for a couple minutes, pausing for varied intervals, until a particularly colorful, flashy-looking show caught her eye.
“Whoa, what’ve we got here?”
The question was rhetorical, but Chippers advised her that she could press Guide to bring up the program’s info. Sylvia kept this tip in mind as she noted something else in the meantime. Her eyes fell to the bottom right-hand corner.
“GSN? This…this whatever it is is on the…game show channel?” Sylvia wondered aloud. “This doesn’t look like a game show to me.”
This time Chippers had nothing conversation-wise to contribute. But something about the flamboyancy on the screen fascinated her. After a couple minutes, she began piecing together what the show was all about. And it intrigued her deeper.
“Oh-ho-ho,” Sylvia assessed. “It appears this, uh…‘game’ show,” she finger-quoted, “Is relevant to one of my interests.”
It was true. Sylvia could definitely see developing interest in this strange and interesting activity. It looked like something she might even be able to do herself. She was only missing what these “contestants” were using. Not that she necessarily wanted to be on this show. Though it could serve as inspiration for a fun new tangent project. But, where and how would she find…
The show went to commercial. A promo appeared for one of the network’s zillions of Family Feud airings. “Name something,” Steve Harvey read from his card, “A husband asks for for his birthday that his wife would never get him.”
The contestants hit their buzzers. The one to ring in first shouted an answer that almost made Sylvia’s orange juice come right out of her nose. The show might’ve been called Family Feud, but some of its content wasn’t extremely family-friendly.
“Oh my God, that’s horrible!” Sylvia guffawed. Then she allowed her mind to process. She stopped laughing.
A brilliant light bulb clicked on over her head.
“…Chip?...Remind me to have Jenkins fire up the limo this evening, would you, please?...
“…I suddenly feel like taking a little ride.”
Saturday, April 23rd, 2016, 8:25 p.m.
The limo made its cautious way into Hemdale and slowed by the corner of Kent Street and Blevins Road. This particular corner and those adjacent were notorious for being rife with ladies of the evening. The sisterlode, as it were. A trove of working SYLFs of all shapes and sizes to choose from. They were approached and picked up on too by all sorts, but had yet to see anything the likes of this.
The myriad of poofed hairdos and makeup-caked faces gravitated to the limo parking before them, like the massive eye candy it was. Three doors opened, including the driver’s side. Sylvia’s chauffeur Jenkins exited, as well as two large armed bodyguards. Some of the SYLFs expected a red carpet to spill from the car and roll on up. Instead, they were greeted to the sight of a mature silver-haired fox shrouded in a fluffy stole. The chauffeur crossed beside her holding a suitcase.
So began the perusal. One bodyguard tagged Jenkins and Sylvia, and the other stayed beside the limo. Sylvia and her driver gave the girls a quick once-over, one at a time, and moved on. Sylvia had something that could be considered an advantage. Under most circumstances, the SYLFs were disinterested and aloof when someone happened along. But none of them anticipated meeting someone this glamorous. And what was more, it was she who came to them. It seemed a little unusual having their services sought out by a woman—to say nothing of this particular wealthy lass—but maybe something else was going on here. Maybe she wanted one of them for somebody different.
This was quite the smörgåsbord, Sylvia noted. She was liking the merchandise here…well aware they were dolled up like each evening for the occasion, but even so. And she knew she needn’t take anyone home to entertain her tonight. She could just do some window shopping, and come back another night should the urge arise again. No one said anything be made to happen, she thought as she and Jenkins stepped off to cross the street. Hypothetically, any one of these SYLFs could give her the night of her life and vice versa, but it couldn’t be forced or pressured. After all—
Sylvia stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes fixed on a clearly illuminated figure beneath a streetlight outside a liquor store.
There she was.
Sylvia knew it before they even came over for a closer look. She could clearly make out her lines and curves, her slopes and contours, her deceptively innocent porcelain face. And those wispy but full bangs Sylvia adored so much, swooping elegantly over her forehead. She was perfect, leaning up against that pole, her hair and dress tossed gingerly by the soft breeze. Indisputably perfect. Sylvia had to have her. She and Jenkins moved in side by side, their bodyguard still just a few feet behind.
“Do pardon me, if you please.”
Miss Bangs turned, regarding the two of them with arched brows. She wasn’t accustomed to such an introduction. Noticing someone approaching out of the corner of her eye, she’d come to expect such colorful greetings as a gruff, mangy-sounding, “YO, BITCH!”
She gazed at Sylvia, who smiled back with a small curtsy.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Again, the young woman was taken aback. Just who was this high society-looking dame, and what was she doing here?
“I expect you’re wondering who I am, and what I’m doing here.”
Bangs nodded, slow and discreet.
“The…thought did fucking cross my mind…”
Sylvia batted her eyes at the young lady, thinking of ways to get her to smile and see some dimples.
“Let’s put it this way: I’ve something to offer you, in the way of an…opportunity,” Sylvia purred.
Keeping only her head turned their way, Li’l Miss Bangs furrowed her brow.
“…Why me?” she asked skeptically, skipping to the second query that entered her mind.
“Well, after scouting the goods,” the silvery fox explained, “It seems there is a small faction that finds you exceptionally desirable.”
The young SYLF’s expression barely changed at all.
“And…just who the fuck would that be?” she wanted to know, nodding towards the tuxedo-clad Jenkins. “Scamper over here?”
Jenkins raised a single eyebrow, muttering to Sylvia out of the side of his mouth. “‘Scamper,’ Madame?”
“Penguin joke,” Sylvia uttered back. She readdressed their prostitute friend. “In fact, my dear, no. It’s not my friend here; it’s myself.”
Madame Bangs of the Liquor Store Streetcorner gawked at her with widened eyes.
“Not until my first, thank you very much.”
She was hoping to get at least a chuckle out of her, but no dice. Sylvia went on.
“But seriously, my friend, all joking aside…how much may I expect to compensate you, to provide me with your lovely company?”
The girl stood motionless for several moments, as if she thought this strange woman must be out of her mind.
“I…don’t think there’s enough fucking money in the world for that, lady…” she finally told her. “I’m…not gay.”
For another few seconds Sylvia remained silent. Then, she clasped her hands together and nodded.
“…Well, if that’s what you believe…”
“Uh, I don’t have to believe it, lady,” the potty-mouthed Miss Bangs said adamantly, growing a bit irritated. “I know it.”
Sylvia smirked at her, coy and flirtatious, batting her eyes again.
“Are you, eh…quite certain about that?”
The SYLF gazed back at her incredulously. She could not have been serious.
“Just about as certain as I can be about anything, my friend,” she snapped, biting off the words. “Team dick. End of story.”
Her patience was wearing. Sylvia could see it was time to play her high cards. She nodded to her chauffeur, who undid the suitcase latches.
“Would a…possible lifetime of being pampered, spoiled and catered to in a new mansion home, for a start, not to mention…”
Jenkins snapped the lid open.
“…Five hundred thousand dollars…change your mind?”
Bangsy’s eyes fell more or less obligatorily upon the suitcase. But once she saw it, both periwinking eyes and both ruby lips opened wide. A couple of her faculties almost gave out right on the spot. Her cigarette dropped from her fingers and bounced on the pavement. Sylvia couldn’t help smirking in self-congratulatory satisfaction. Even with the mink and the limo, she knew it would be hard to convince these girls of her manor. But the money she could prove. Very few individuals had ever seen this much cash in one place in their entire lives. And just to hammer home that she was on the level, Sylvia took one of the banded stacks for her to see, and flipped through it. Her young friend had to close her mouth and swallow saliva that suddenly wanted out.
“Ah, isn’t that a glorious sound,” Sylvia gushed. She took Miss Bangs’ paw and placed the stack in her palm. She knew feeling it for real, in her own hand, would take it up another notch. She leaned in to murmur to her.
“Ten grand,” she whispered, to the girl’s visible and audible astonishment. “Consider it an advance. Do come home with me, then…
“…Would you please?”
Not Just Another Pretty Place
Saturday, April 23rd, 2016, 10:21 p.m.
“I’m so happy you changed your mind! Now then, I’m called Sylvia. Sylvia Quibley. What’s your name, my friend?”
“Um, I’m Noelle, Miss...Sylvia lady...Noelle Beckman.”
The limo pulled back out of Hemdale and started north, back to Green Plains, now with one additional occupant. Miss Bangs, Noelle, still wasn’t sure about this, where they were going, or what this wealthy lady had planned when they got there. She was wary about this whole arrangement, quite frankly, but decided to come along. And not just because of the drool-inducing sight of a suitcase stuffed with cold, hard, scrumptious cash. What Sylvia’d said about a possible new residence and new life resonated with her. While Noelle’d admit to liking sex and money, she didn’t honestly enjoy being a hooker. And though she wasn’t lying about her heterosexuality, being chosen to partake in a possible opportunity of fortune and glamour made her feel special and nice.
And, who could say; for all she knew, this Sylvia character might not want her to do anything naughty or hookerish at all. Maybe. Actually, when she reminded herself how foxy and desirable Sylvia said she was, this theory turned unlikely. Oh well, she’d cross that proverbial bridge when she got to it.
In the meantime, she felt a strange feeling as Sylvia took her hand, linked their fingers, and stroked her arm.
“I do hope you enjoy the lovely gifts I’ve in store for you,” she heard Sylvia coo.
…You like using the word “do” a lot, don’t you, thought Noelle, trying to take her mind off the flirty physical contact. The situation had her confounded. When she took a step back and looked at it in perspective, she wondered if she’d got in a little over her head here. Had she made a big mistake? She was a mere 29 years old. What was to happen to her?
The way Sylvia touched her bemused her as well. This cougarish lady seemed friendly, no doubt, and she was definitely attractive, especially with that shimmery silver mane. But how Sylvia petted and rubbed her arm…Noelle wasn’t sure what to make of this. She felt it should make her want to squirm away, or feel unpleasant inside. She was straight, after all, wasn’t she? She didn’t expect the touch of another woman—especially an older one—to feel quite so…not creepy. She’d hugged other women before without reservation, but that was it. She’d never kissed a woman who wasn’t a relative, and certainly never with passion. And she’d had her share of business sex, but never came—in any sense of the word—close to another pussy in her life.
Well, if this Sylvia lady stuck to her…“safe” zones…then, Noelle thought she could see them getting along okay.
Jenkins shifted gears and started up the incline leading to the mansion. It was dark, and the sun was already asleep for the night, but Noelle could see the Quibley Manor with its lighted grounds and fountains. The bodyguards bookended them in the backseat. Noelle unbuckled herself, crawled onto the lap of the guard to her right and pressed her palms and nose to the window.
“WOW!” she cried. “You live here??...Oh my God, Miss Sylvia, you weren’t fucking kidding, were you?!”
“I was not,” she heard Sylvia confirm. “And now, if you like it…and we like each other…you can live here too, Noelle.”
Noelle’s blood raced. She felt her heart start pounding through her chest. This could be her new home?? It was beautiful! And enormous! And this was only the exterior? What did it look like behind those massive doors?? Suddenly, this didn’t feel like such a mistake anymore. Noelle couldn’t believe it. She plopped back down in her seat, turned to Miss Sylvia, and hugged her in rapt gratitude.
Her adulation only increased as Sylvia helped her out of the limo and took her inside. Awestruck gasps and squeaks ensued. It was indescribable in Noelle’s stunned mind. Everywhere she looked, there was just…more. It was beyond immense. There were too many floors to count, split-storied with a wide-open hall space, seventy feet below a massive chandelier. Railing-lined walkways wound endless corners. Walls were decked in sconces and portraited Quibleys of past generations. Late-night servants circulated in tuxes and ruffles. Jenkins and the bodyguards were sent on their way, leaving Sylvia alone with Noelle, to conduct a uniquely grand tour.
About thirty-five minutes in, Sylvia pushed open yet another door.
“And, this is one of my favorite places to hang out when I’m craving a little…fun,” she explained, turning back to grin at Noelle.
Noelle abruptly felt a trifle uncertain. “…Oh?”
“That’s right,” Sylvia nodded, throwing the door all the way open. “The game room.”
Her new companion’s uncertainty dissolved as she noted the brand of fun Sylvia had in mind, to say nothing of just how much of it. This sizable playspace was home to twin billiard, air hockey and foosball tables, several vintage arcade platforms, a jukebox, and a family of pinball machines. And as if all that wasn’t fun enough, the ceiling was twenty feet high, and there were solo trampolines inside, should anyone be in the mood for some airborne ping-pong.
The coolest part of all, though, were actually the floor, walls and aforementioned ceiling. They were specially designed in stacked multicolored squares, as if the room was the inside of a giant Rubik’s Cube. Yet cooler than that, it was lined with color-changing track lighting, and could even be set to ultraviolet mode for some glow-in-the-dark gaming. It was all part of Sylvia’s brilliant vision. Seeing all this, Noelle didn’t think she even needed a trampoline.
“WHOA!” she shouted in amazement, hastening about to admire everything. “Oh my God, this is so fucking awesome!!”
“And so free,” Sylvia added. “Oh, and hey: check this action out.”
She adjusted the light switch so the track lights flipped colors automatically.
“WHOA-ho!” Noelle reiterated, with vast approval. “Wow, so what’re we gonna play first?”
“Well, foremost, my friend,” said Sylvia, turning the lights back to normal, “We’re gonna play Continue The Tour.”
Noelle seemed disappointed. “…Oh. Well, can we come back after the tour??”
“Of course!” said Sylvia, reopening the door. But as she did, a thought came into her mind. Noelle was on the way back to exit. But Sylvia decided to be impulsive, and threw the door shut again before she got there.
“Wh—what’s going on? I thought you said continue the tour.”
Sylvia smiled demurely. “I changed my mind.” She turned the pretty multicolored lights on again. “Let’s play.”
A beautiful, excited grin spread over Noelle Beckman’s face.
You’re Gonna Foos Yourself
Saturday, April 23rd, 2016, 11:50 p.m.
It was getting late, but Sylvia and Noelle were chock full of energy. Sylvia threw on some poppy, spirited music courtesy of the jukebox.
“What’s your game, dollface?” Sylvia flirted.
“Well, um…Silver Syl…” Noelle non-flirted, “I like pool and air hockey, but…I’m best at foosball, actually.”
“Good! Shall we then?”
Silver Syl activated the electronic mechanism which kept score, subsequently assuming her position across from the SYLF.
“Okay! Ten points to a game. The table will sing a little song when one of us scores,” Sylvia explained, pointing to the scorekeeper. “And here, my dear, is the twist. Every time one of us scores…” She flipped her eyebrows at Noelle with a smirk.
“…The other takes something off.”
Noelle arched her own brows, not sure she liked the sound of this.
“No, as in a strip of wallpaper, silly. Yes, of course, our clothes!”
Noelle felt a chill ride her back. In all the excitement, she hadn’t seen this additional term coming. She may have been a pro pro, but wasn’t sure how she felt getting naked in front of this lady. She got naked all the time in front of people she barely knew, people who were…well, male. And there, she realized, was the discrepancy. The last time she could remember taking off her clothes for a woman was at such an early age, it was her mother bathing her. She raised her eyes back up to Sylvia’s impish face. The silver fox didn’t look quite old enough to be her mother, but that didn’t make the prospect much easier.
…Ah, what the fuck, she tried to convince herself. She reminded herself she didn’t have to take off a thing till Sylvia scored a point on her, and she didn’t know how good Sylvia was. Or wasn’t. Maybe she’d even win this game. In fact, maybe she’d shut Miss Sylvia right the hell out and strip the older woman bare without removing a stitch of her own. Less than likely, but the thought amused her. As if having a few drinks and playing an inebriated sex game with the sorority sister—or more accurately, house mother—she’d never had. And potential nudity aside, the whole reason they came into this room was to have fun. So there she had it.
“Um,” Noelle raised her hand. “Quick question before we start. Do I have to take off my clothes in any particular order?”
“Ooh; eager little beaver, aren’t we now? No, no, it’s totally up to you what you remove and when. No skips or exceptions, though. Any time I get a point, you must remove something, until you’re naked. And vice versa.”
Sylvia flashed a wicked grin at her, baring her pearly whites like the predatory cougar she was. Noelle felt that cold chill again.
“I see. Well, uh…hopefully I can back up my trash talk, so here goes—
“Bring it! You’re goin’ down, old woman! I’m gonna crush you like a fuckin’ ant!”
“Oh-ho-ho!” laughed Sylvia, pleased to see Noelle getting into the spirit of things. “Well, now, we’ll just see about that, won’t we?!...Let’s go, dear; zero-zero.”
Both were getting pretty pumped now. Time to get the game started, Sylvia took one of the balls and dropped it into her side tray, which deposited it into the center of the table, between midfield foosmen. Ka-chunk-chunk! The game was on.
Sylvia waited for the ball to roll into the path of one of her figures, and whipped her wrist on the center bar. Whoosh—smack!
“WHOA!” exclaimed Noelle, surprised by the sudden velocity. She wasn’t quite prepared, but fortunately for her, the ball whacked one of her defenders and stopped, keeping it from careening into her goal. Grasping her bearings and seizing the chance, she mimicked Sylvia’s technique and gave her own bar a whip, sending the ball banking off the side panel, back into Sylvia’s court. Sylvia switched bars with remarkable dexterity, and twisted and turned with just the right amount of finesse to intercept the ball with one defender, and pass it up to her other on the same bar. Before Noelle had a chance to adjust, Sylvia readied, aimed, and fired.
Sylvia threaded the ball past all Noelle’s foosplayers in the way, as well as her own, to score the first goal. The table registered, and the short burst of fanfare followed.
“Yay! There’s one, my friend!” Sylvia clapped. “Now gets to strippin’!”
Noelle had to admit to feeling sheepish. The score was one to nothing, and she now had to remove an article. In the few secs since the game began, she’d started talking herself into believing the old woman really was going down, and that the exuberance of youth would prevail. Apparently, she’d have to try a little harder. She kicked off one of her shoes.
“All right, lucky shot; I’ll give you that one,” she smirked, still trying to trash-talk tough. “Gloves’re comin’ off now, Grandma.”
“Oh, I believe it’s more than just the gloves in your case, kiddo. And watch whom you’re calling Grandma.”
The competition—and these fightin’ words—were fueling Sylvia as well. She reached around to Noelle’s goal to grab the ball.
“My point, my serve,” she explained. “One serving zero.” Again, she dropped the ball in the tray, and they scrambled for control.
This time Noelle nabbed the ball and fired a more accurate bank shot, off her own panel. Sylvia’s quick eye served her well, as she darted left, snatched her goalie bar and threw it into position. She almost missed and allowed Noelle to score, but managed to block the shot off the edge. “Ha!” she taunted. “Nice try!”
Damn, this lady is good… thought Noelle. But let’s see just how many the fuck tricks we got up our sleeves…
The ball rolled too far from Sylvia’s defense and Noelle’s offensive foos. Sylvia waited for it to reach her midfield, and smacked a fierce heater. Noelle let out a gasp and went to grab her goalkeeper bar, but couldn’t position it to stop the shot in time. Ka-THUNK!!
“Ha-HA! Yes!” Sylvia grinned.
“Dammit!” Noelle made a fist with her failed hand and shook it vehemently.
No words necessary, Sylvia only held up two fingers and wiggled them mischievously at her opponent. Noelle nodded, determined to be a sport, and disposed of her other shoe.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s go.”
Being one-upped by a middle-aged adversary must’ve had some effect on Noelle, because her hand-eye coordination sharpened as the ball dropped for the third time. She took the initiative, and managed to pass from one midfield foos to another. She then kicked a moderate shot which intentionally went wide of Sylvia’s goal, and was meant to throw her off. Banking her own panel and Sylvia’s goal border, the ball rolled back to Noelle’s offense. She stopped it, edged the kicker down an inch, carefully aimed, and nailed her first goal before Sylvia could block her.
“OH!” she celebrated over the fanfare, punching the air with both fists. “Fuck yeah!”
Sylvia politely applauded with a, “Well done, lass,” stepping out of one of her own kicks.
“All right then, your serve,” she told Noelle, gesturing to her own goal. “One serving two.”
“One serving two,” Noelle parroted, dropping the ball through her tray. Chunk-chunk.
This exchange became the longest volley thus far, as both ladies got their eye, and their offense and defense improved. The interval between points increased. Sylvia played by herself, but playing with someone else really did up the fun factor. And honed her skill in a way playing solo couldn’t. Eventually, she felt a strain in her left foot from standing on its toes. She waited for an opportune moment, grabbed the ball with her hand and plucked it off the table.
“Time out,” Sylvia announced. She took the necessary few seconds to slip off her other shoe, then took the advantage. She shoved the ball down her tray, sending it back into play, rapidly out into the fray, lined up her midfield straightaway…and took her shot.
“BOOM!” boomed Sylvia, pumping her arm in the air. Noelle gaped at this sudden sick trick, gave a chuckling scoff, and smacked the top paneling with her palm.
“Shit!” she complained, laughing sardonically. “No fair!”
“Never said I was gonna play fair, little gal. Three to one.
“And, uh, by the way,” she pointed, as Noelle fingered her dress, trying to get up the nerve to take it off. “You can swear all you want. But punishing my table will only end up getting yourself punished.”
She smiled at Noelle making this warning, to let her know the admonishment was in good fun. But the girl still wasn’t excused from getting undressed, and she knew it. It took Noelle a minute, but she got the dress off. She turned pink, now only in her undies. She was embarrassed at first…but cleverly thought if this silvery Sylvia was gay, maybe Noelle could…distract her, with her femininity.
Hell, she said to herself. Why not? Why the fuckin’ fuck not?? Let’s make it fun!
The match raged on. Noelle was indeed—no pun intended—having a ball. This was unique for her. Usually, her clients just wanted to get right down to business. She’d never been paid to play this sort of game before. The clock had already struck midnight a while before, and neither noticed. On a normal night, Sylvia would (probably) have already put herself to bed. But right now, sleep was the last thing on her mind. Circadianly, she should be ready to drop dead. But she just wanted to keep playing, and perhaps play a…different sort of “game” once they finished up with foosball.
Or…perhaps she could…
Her eyebrows jumped.
A newly sinister grin slithered up her lips.
Suddenly she knew, when she won this game—and she would win—just precisely how she would punish young Noelle for losing.
Sunday, April 24th, 2016, 12:46 a.m.
“YES!!” a nearly victorious and much more naked Sylvia bellowed. “That’s nine to seven my favor, kiddo!”
Nude Noelle, who was now stripped of everything but a shred of her pride, glared back at Sylvia with intensity in her eyes.
“’S not over till the fuck it’s over, Cruella.”
“Ohhh…you’ll pay for that one, you will, Aurora.”
Sylvia abruptly felt one of her remaining strands of dark hair go dove-gray, as a new liver spot materialized on her hand.
She placed the newly liver-spotted hand on her hip, now paranoid she might suddenly break it (her hip). Perhaps she’d better hurry and put an end to this game before their ages did become a factor. She grabbed the foosball and dropped it once more.
Ironically, the game was easier to play naked. Sylvia was still in her bra and panties—and Noelle had to admit, the ol’ lady still rocked a decent, spry body for a however-many-years-she-was-old. Given her profession, it was pretty incumbent of Noelle to look after her figure, but not much fun. She was reaching the age where she couldn’t eat junk food without it catching up with her anymore. But after spending her 20s in such rigorous physical discipline…if this cohabitating thing with Miss Sylvia worked out, maybe she wouldn’t have to be a prostitute anymore, and could start grazing on comfort food.
Maybe. She’d have to remember to bring these things up at a later point. She hoped Sylvia didn’t put her on an even more stringently boring diet. She was young(er), but still a grown woman. She should be entitled to treats if she wanted.
They scuffled over the ball for the seventeenth time. While Noelle had spent the whole game gaining and regaining on Sylvia, she never managed to tie the score, and Sylvia had just pulled ahead, again. But Noelle was determined this would be the final point her opponent would make. Not that it mattered a great deal; she was already naked. But it occurred to her she didn’t know how good a winner—or loser—Sylvia was. Should she let the old broad emerge triumphant? Would Sylvia throw Noelle back out onto her corner if she beat her? Somehow she doubted it, but it wouldn’t be an issue till a few points later.
“HA!” Noelle cackled. “In your face, Grandma! Nine to eight!”
Sylvia smirked. “Sure you’re not due for a diaper change, whippersnapper?”
Noelle retrieved the ball and zinged her right back without missing a beat.
“Sure you’re not due for a diaper change, ol’-timer?”
“I knew it,” Sylvia just as immediately shook her head with a laugh. “Touché, ya got me; I knew that was a mistake as soon as it came outta my mouth.”
Noelle served. Thirty-three seconds later, she scored on the old woman again.
“FUCK YES!” she screamed, leaping in the air, her round tits jiggling and bouncing. “Tied!”
Noelle could hardly believe it. For the first time, she’d evened the score. And only needed one more point. She could win this!
Sylvia saw this was getting serious. She’d now grown attached to this supplementary activity she wanted to do with…to Noelle afterwards. The girl would probably want to know what kind of prize she got for winning. Sylvia had no answer for that. She’d only been considering her own victory. But neither of them had any more chances after this. It was nine to nine. This was as close as it got. Neither could afford any slip-ups now.
Sylvia blinked a dozen rapid times, ensuring her vision was focused as could be. She shook out her hands, cracked her knuckles, and regripped the handles. Noelle poised the ball over her tray opening, and sneered at her hostess under those beautiful bangs.
“Nine serving nine, old woman.”
Thwack went the foosball, in play one last time. Both ladies twisted, navigated and maneuvered foosballers like never before. The ball whacked innumerable times against figurines, panels and corners, control shifting from Sylvia back to Noelle, to and fro, too many times to count…until Noelle stopped the ball, just by the back defender on her side. She allowed just a few centimeters, then whipped the bar counterclockwise to fire. The ball rocketed toward Sylvia’s goal.
Sylvia gasped. She leapt to her left and shoved the goalkeeper bar as far in as it would go. She was just in time. The ball slapped the goalie in its little plastic feet and detoured.
“Fuck!” Noelle lamented. She tried to reach the ball with her offense, but couldn’t. It rolled parallel to Sylvia’s goalie. Feeling a few beads of sweat pop on her forehead, Sylvia waited for just the perfect moment to strike. Here it came, and…pow!
The ball took less than a second to blow past all twenty-one other foos on the table…
…Including Noelle’s goalie.
The game was over.
“Woo-HOOOOOO!!” Sylvia cheered, pumping her fists to the air.
“NOOOOO!” Noelle simultaneously wailed, slumping over the table to her knees, burying her face in her palms. She waited out the subsequent outbursts of triumph, until she felt a light tap on her bare shoulder. She looked up between her fingers.
“A-hem,” Sylvia faked clearing her throat, leering down on her with a Shinola-eating grin. “I win.”
Noelle half-laughed and half-cried. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Sylvia clapped her hands with a hearty, good-natured laugh of her own. “A’right, kiddo. Ready for your punishment?”
Noelle removed her hands, gaping agog up at Sylvia.
“Your punishment, of course, silly! You do realize and understand that losers must be punished, yes?”
Noelle made an alarmed face.
“Why, certainly!” chuckled Sylvia, as if this were an obvious circumstance. “’Tis important, my young friend, to win in life, and to face the ramifications when we do not. In Sylvia Quibley’s world, my dear…”
Her eyebrows angled down, turning her smile frighteningly evil.
“…Losing…has its consequences.”
Noelle was abruptly intimidated. Sylvia sauntered back to the jukebox and shut it off. Returning to her guest, she beckoned her to her feet with a single fingertip, and gathered both their outfits.
“Don’t worry about your dress, Noelle. We’ll keep it nearby. While, however, you are naked in my home…”
Garments over her forearm, Sylvia adjourned to the entrance, shut off the lights, and opened the door. Noelle tensed up and covered her privates.
“Hey! What the fuck’re you doing?!” she hissed.
“Don’t fret, my pet; no one’ll see you. The only servants who’re still awake are tidying up private chambers.”
Noelle supposed she had to trust Sylvia, but kept her hands over her boobs and pussy as she was escorted out of the game room. Most of the lights in the main body of the mansion were off, which at least gave her some seclusion. The sconces provided just enough light for Sylvia to lead her to their next destination.
“This way, my girl.”
Sylvia took her along a hallway towards the south side of the manor, down a spiral staircase, which led to an equally secluded, tucked away little nook. The door to this awaiting mystery did not open on hinges, but rather slid, heavy and daunting, almost akin to a faux bookcase unveiling a secret passageway.
“Here we are,” stated a pleased Sylvia. She took Noelle by the hand—apologized with a giggle as she pretended to “realize” the hand she reached for was covering Noelle’s cunt—and led her in by the crook of her arm instead. It was dark.
“W—…where are we?”
“This is a private space reserved for only the most special and privileged of guests,” Sylvia smiled. “Not even my servants come to dally down here. It’s almost sort of a secret, between little ol’ me, myself and I.”
Noelle cautiously unhanded herself and reached to feel her way around.
“Can we, uh…get some light in here?”
“Oh, we will. All in due time. Now do be a dear and come with me…”
Sylvia continued leading her by the Noelle-bow, grinning ear to ear. Only she knew what she was about to do, and that was what made this so very much fun. She’d been honest with the girl in saying servants didn’t come down here, and that was because once upon a time, she’d decided to do something unique with this room, and informed the help that it was off-limits to them. Logically, they were curious, but kept professionalism about themselves. The uniquity of the room was pretty self-explanatory: it was Sylvia’s own little naughty-cave. And Miss Noelle Beckman was about to find it out for herself.
Her guest could only make out vague shapes and uncertain tangibles, but Sylvia remained by her side. The quiet pad-shuffle-pad of their bare feet echoed around them. Finally, Sylvia brought Noelle just where she wanted her. She placed her adjacent to a large vertical mat of leather, eight feet high by six feet wide. It stood straight, perpendicular from the floor and ceiling, and lined around the perimeter with bolted hooks on fine wooden slabs. Four hooks, at four very specific points on the slabs, were occupied.
“Here you are, sweetie…” Sylvia purred, persuading Noelle into place. “Just stand here…that’s a girl…and hold still for me now…”
Noelle was nervous, not sure she liked this. Miss Sylvia had said whatever was going to happen here was a “punishment,” and while a prostitute was used to doing what strangers wanted for money, novelties had always yet to surface. Unsure what other choice there was, she stood patient and obedient, as Sylvia rotated her, back and ass to the leather. The next she did was take the girl’s right arm, bringing her hand to jaw level at one end…where, connected to one hook, a rolled out velvet cuff waited for it.
Noelle’s heart rate suddenly accelerated as she felt her wrist go into the cuff, and Sylvia fasten it good and tight on her.
“Um…Miss Sylvia…are you tying me up, to…whatever the fuck this thing is?”
Sylvia smiled warmly, taking Noelle’s left wrist and doing the same on her other side.
“You’re catching on fast, young one,” she nodded, cuffing her left wrist symmetrically. Now that she couldn’t bolt loose, she dropped an initial bomb. “I admire that in a slave.”
Noelle gasped again.
“What??” she shouted. “You…you…”
Sylvia chortled. “O-kay,” she amended. “I take it back; I didn’t exactly mean that. You’ll see more what I have in mind a little later. But in the meantime, if you want my home to be yours, you might as well make yourself more, eh…comfy.”
Noelle pulled on the cuffs holding her hands in place.
“Uh, right,” she said in a voice that reeked of sarcasm. “And I suppose next you’ll want me to call you Mom.”
“‘Mom’??” Sylvia laughed. “Are you trying to hurt my feelings? To get even with me for beating you in that silly foosball game?”
She wouldn’t tell Noelle this, but given what they were about to do together, Sylvia didn’t want to be her “Mom.” However…
“On the other hand, I dunno how crazy I am about ‘Miss Sylvia’ either,” she mused. “But, tell you what…
“You can call me Aunt Sylvia.”
Oh, I like that! thought Sylvia as she heard it out loud. “Aunt” Sylvia. I always wanted to be an aunt! And while I would never do this to a real niece or nephew, Noelle…calling me your aunt makes what we’re about to do feel extra kinky!
Noelle didn’t really respond. Sylvia nodded.
“Yes! As a matter of fact, that’s much better. Do call me Aunt Sylvia. In fact, make it Sylvie. Cut off that last pesky syllable.”
She crouched down to restrain Noelle’s feet next. Noelle knew this probably wasn’t smart, but her first instinct at having her ankles seized was to kick.
“Ah—!” Sylvia tickled her foot, usurping control back. “And do behave, I told you. The more you fight, the more you’ll only make it harder on yourself.”
She proceeded to fasten and lock Noelle’s ankles in the other set of cuffs, also on either end. Noelle now stood spread-eagle against the leather, naked and immobile, unable to shield or protect herself any longer.
“M—…Miss Sylvia, what’s going on?” she asked, trying to put some pathos into her tone.
“Tsk, tsk, Noelle; I told you, that’s Aunt Sylvie now,” the silver aunt informed her. As to her question, Sylvie held off on answering, until she turned to a corner, and flipped up the switch. CLICK! echoed the sound. Noelle looked up to see a beam alight above them, with more wattage that she would’ve expected down here. Suddenly, it was so bright she had to squint.
“Ahh! Oh, God, what th—!”
“There we go, niecey! That oughta shine a little light on this mystery for ya!” the quirky Quibley quipped. “Oh, I’m going straight to hell for these puns, I am. I just know it.”
Noelle still didn’t laugh. Fine… Sylvia thought. That’s fine…
“Right then!” she brought her hands together in another loud clasp. Returning to Noelle, she eyeballed her handiwork up and down.
“Mm!” she smirked in smug satisfaction. “Delicious.”
She looked down between Noelle’s thighs to see a flawlessly bare, shaved pussy.
Perfect. Just wonderful. Now I don’t have to do that for you.
She reached above Noelle’s right shoulder and retrieved another item she’d placed for just such an occasion: a long, thin pink strip of silk. This “Aunt” Sylvia slipped under Noelle’s bangs and over her eyes. Noelle furrowed her brows underneath in confusion.
Sylvie adjusted the blindfold so that it sat in place, and she could just dab the tip of Noelle’s nose, which peeked out from beneath.
“’Atta girl. Now you just sit tight, and I’ll be right back!”
“Only for a moment. I promise, honey, no one is going to come in here until I get back.”
Now with her companion nicely secured to her leather mat, Sylvia slipped out of the cave and silently trotted up the stairs, around to her bedroom and studio, and collected the materials she’d need. A rough ten minutes later, she pranced back on down, items in a tote box, and rejoined her newly adopted niece. Hearing the sound but unable to see, Noelle tensed up a bit.
“Aunt Sylvie, my dear! You’ll catch on to it eventually.” Setting her box on a nearby metal table, Sylvie slid the table and a chair over in front of her niece, sat, and spread out her tools. The first toy they’d be playing with, she informed Noelle, was quite the little doozy.
“Oh, joy,” Noelle sighed, prompting her adoptive aunt to laugh out loud at her.
“Now, sweetie, this might pinch a little,” warned Sylvia. “So if it does, just let me know.”
Noelle didn’t think she liked the sound of that.
“Um, what might fucking pinch a little…Aunt…Sylvie?”
Again skirting the inquiries, Sylvia placed the opening over Noelle’s exposed protruding labia, and began pumping. When Noelle’s brain registered the unexpected squeezing sensation tugging on her pussy lips, she gasped.
“Nothing to worry about,” sweet old Aunt Sylvie assured her, trying not to let the evil come through in her inflection. “I’ll try to keep it to as little pressure as possible.”
“Erm…Aunt, Fucking, Sylvie…”
Puff, puff… “That’s my fucking name, don’t wear it fucking out.” Puff, puff.
“…That’s…ow…that’s kinda starting to hurt.”
“That’s all you had to say.” Sylvia momentarily stopped tightening the clit pump on Noelle’s cunt and pressed the relief nozzle, taking off the pinch while keeping her pussy lips swelled inside. Noelle exhaled, unclenching her face and muscles.
“OH, God…Mis—er, Aunt, Sylvie…seriously, no kidding, what the fuck is that?”
“This?” Puff puff. “This is a clitoris pump, Noelle. Some might call it a pussy pump.” Puff puff. “I’m a bit surprised you couldn’t tell.”
“Well, i—ooh! It’s…ahh! It’s a little hard to tell when you can’t see, auntie.”
“Point taken.” PUFFFFFffffffffff. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Noelle: you’re lucky I’m not a mean, creepy old woman. If I were a nasty rotten crone, I’d make this pump your punishment, and pinch and squeeze on that lovely pussy of yours till you couldn’t use it anymore. Till tears started coming out of your eyes, in fact.”
Errrggghhh…speaking of fucking which… Noelle cringed as the pump started her pussy to aching again, and croaked so to Sylvia.
“Very well.” SSSSSSSSSSSsssssss… went the relief nozzle. Thush went Noelle’s head back against the leather.
“Okay, I think this situation’s looking pretty promising now,” she heard Aunt Sylvie opine. She held in the nozzle until the pump sleeve popped off Noelle’s now inflated labia. Feeling it detach, Noelle gasp-squeaked, breathing yet heavier.
“That…uh…that-that feels weird.”
“Yeah, it looks a little weird too, kiddo,” Sylvia chuckled up at her. She gave her blown-up—and now moist—pussy a little finger diddle. “Kinda like big old eleph—”
“EEEEEEE!!” Noelle squealed.
“Oooh-hoo-hoo! Sensitive too! Looks like things are going according to plan!”
“M-A-Aunt S-Sylvie, is…is this my ‘punishment’?”
“Oh, we’re getting there.” Sylvie spun in her chair to put down the cunt pump, and grab her next tool: a ten-inch nylon cable tie.
“’Kay, Noelle, dear, I’m gonna need you to hold especially still for me…”
Aunt Sylvie’s next mini-project involved bending the cable tie around her victim—guest’s vaginal puffs, threading the end through the eye to close it, and tightening little by little, tucking underneath all Noelle’s folds. When she was satisfied, she tightened the tie, just enough to hold Noelle’s goodies in its grip, keeping her nice and sensitized, but not enough to cause her harm.
“There we are!” announced the proud silver fox. “How’s that feel?”
“Well, you just sit t—er, stand tight, should I say,” Sylvia corrected herself, “While I finish setting up here.”
Noelle sighed. “…Aunt Sylvie…could you at least tell me what the fuck you’re gonna do to me?”
“Of course! After I do it.”
Yet another sigh emanated from Noelle, complemented by one more of Sylvia’s benevolent giggles. She spun around to unpack her supplies. She unfurled and donned her painting smock. She laid the palette flat, opened her watercolors one by one and squirted out a helping of each. Then she took the glass and bottle and poured some water. Finally, she took the palette in hand, selected a small, thin brush, wet its bristles in the water and returned to Noelle. Time to choose a color.
She randomly opted for light blue as the starting hue. Noelle piped up.
“‘Hmmm’? What’s ‘Hmmm’ mean?”
Sylvia answered her question by simply going ahead with her project, applying a first coat of light blue to her girl-pet’s labia majora. When she felt it, Noelle practically jumped out of her sensitized flesh.
“YEEEEE!!” she squealed again, doing her best to flail away. Now she realized why Aunt Sylvie had restrained her against this leather backdrop—so she could do whatever the hell this was…or just do whatever she damn well wanted to her…and so Noelle couldn’t get away from her, or do anything about it. Oh, she knew there had to be a catch somewhere. She knew all this goodness had to come with some kind of insane price!
And just what was she doing to her exactly?? Noelle was more infuriatedly curious by the second. Whatever it was, it felt cold, it felt wet, and it T-I-C-K-L-E-D like crazy! And it didn’t take long to start driving Noelle insane. So this part must have been her real punishment. Well, it sure seemed to have a desired effect. Noelle rattled and struggled against the cuffs, still squealing—and starting to laugh hysterically.
Done with one majora and beginning the other, Aunt Sylvie paused painting. “Now behave yourself, I told you!” she ordered. “Noelle, you’re being very naughty! As the model for my newest work, you must honor the artist’s wishes and hold still until she is done. Otherwise, we’re going to have to do this all over again!”
“Model”? “Artist”?...Was that what she was doing—painting her?...Literally…painting her?
“Now, I’ll help you a little bit here, I’ll put my feet on yours,” said Sylvia, doing so to help Noelle stay stationary. “But you have to help me as well. Now let’s try again.”
She’d given Noelle’s right outer labium a basically full coat and only got a short ways down the left, but Sylvie now decided to switch colors. She dipped the brush in the water, then the purple to resume. She continued working on Noelle’s left outer lip.
“EEEEEEE!! WHOOO-HOOO-HOOOOOO!!” Noelle shrieked, unable to hold it back. “Au—…Aunt Sylvie, please!” she laughed helplessly. “Whatever that is you’re doing, it tickles like a motherfucker!”
“Does it now?...” Sylvia flicked the purple-tinged tip of the brush underneath her, giving Noelle’s taint a taste of the bristles.
The playfully naughty Aunt Sylvie laughed along with her. “Well, I guess that answers my question!” she roared merrily. “Perhaps you should’ve laughed at my jokes, sweetie! Don’t appreciate my sense of humor? I’ll get those laughs outta you one way or another!”
She went on cackling along with Noelle, almost maniacally. Finally, she paused for a moment, and they calmed down.
“You know, sweetheart, you should consider yourself quite special. Y’see, I’ve always rather had a thing for pussy tickling, teasing and all that fun stuff…but I could never find a willing volunteer before!” She chortled gleefully.
Now through with the majora, Sylvia dropped the first brush she’d been using in the water and chose another, even smaller and thinner still. She proceeded to wet its bristles just the same, and mixed green and blue for her next color. While still painting her cunt, thought Sylvia, it made less sense to choose a color like red, which the girl’s pussy pretty much already was. The opposite colors on the spectrum, like green and blue, would offer greater contrast and appear in better relief. Once she’d blended together a nice shade of turquoise, Sylvie went closer inside, setting to work on the minora.
This tiny brush drove Noelle just as crazy as the previous one had, if not more. She again laughed and screamed, squealing that delightful, adorable squeal that was music to her aunt’s ears. She whipped her head back and forth, squeezed her digits into balled fists, wrenched and yanked on the infernal cuffs with all her might, and spat curse words galore between guffaws. Sylvia took each both physical and verbal reaction as the lovely, poignant compliment it was. When she felt she’d used enough turquoise, she paused to consider her next color choice, giving Noelle a much-needed breather.
“HOLY FUCK!!” screeched the laughing SYLF, trying to calm down. “This is fucking insane! You bitch! You…you fucking cunt!”
Sylvia couldn’t be less fazed. She gave a calm, pleasant smile.
“Now just what sort of way is that to speak to your dear old beloved auntie?”
Now that she’d made a tertiary color from one primary and one secondary, Sylvia thought she’d mix two secondaries. She combined green and purple, resulting in a grayish indigo. This would go nicely with the other colors already used on her “canvas.” Another coat of oversensitized genital skin later, Noelle was ready to start begging.
“Aunt Sylvie, plee-e-e-e-ease!” she literally laugh-sobbed, tears indeed pooling from her eyes in the blindfold.
“I’ll talk already!” Noelle joked. “Whaddaya wanna hear? I’ll tell you! Anything! Just…I-I can’t take this! Please, make it stop!”
Aunt Sylvie laughed out loud. She took merriment in the girl’s choice of words—“make it stop,” rather than simply “stop.” As if Sylvia wasn’t administering this paint job herself, but having it done by a robot or something. Hmmmm…how fascinating would that be, her eccentric mind wondered. What a weird and bizarre and yet…arousing concept. She leered back up at the face of her canvas.
“You’re so funny, Noelle. Do always hang on to that wonderful sense of humor for your Aunt Sylvie.”
“I’m not trying to be funny; you’re torturing me!” Noelle screamed between forced laughs. “What did you fucking expect?!”
“But we only got started a couple minutes ago!” Sylvie told her, dosing her own voice with feigned pathos. “Don’t you wanna see this marvelous masterpiece come to fruition?”
At the expense of my sanity?…Not really so much, no!
“Well, can we at least take off this fucking blindfold?!” a frustrated Noelle hollered.
“Oh, but of course not, darling; that won’t do at all!” Sylvie yelled back. “Aren’t you aware what awful luck it is for the canvas to view herself in an unfinished state? It’s like seeing the bride on the wedding day before the ceremony! That’s no good whatsoever!
“Trust me; the artist knows what’s best for her work. Now, where were we…”
Noelle was finding herself less inclined all the time to trust “Aunt” Sylvie anymore. She couldn’t believe she’d trusted her this far. Ever since Sylvia had picked her up this evening, she thought something was up. That foosball game really was fun, but…perhaps this would be a lesson to her: next time, win. At any and all costs. Then maybe she could torture Aunt Sylvie.
“All righty, dollface,” she heard Sylvie call up. “You may wish to brace yourself for this next portion.”
May wish to brace myself for this next por—?!...NOW you fucking tell me?!!...
Rinsing and using the same brush, Sylvia combined some yellow and green, applied it to the bristles, and twirled the brush into the center of Noelle’s folds, essentially penetrating her with the tip. Noelle likewise threw her head straight back, guffawing in mad hysteria, jerking on her cuffs with such ferocity, and yet utter futility. Sylvie was indeed continuing to drive her ape-shitting-bananas with laughter—until…
The brush found its way upwards…to her bulging, engorged, deadly vulnerable clit.
Noelle’s actions at the clitoral assault gave new dimension to the phrase “lost it.” Her lovable squeals graduated into primal banshee howls. She officially, went, nuts. The other parts of her body tried to take over. Her hands turned inwards as her feet wriggled free of Aunt Sylvie’s, all twenty nails trying frantically to scrabble up and away from the awful bristles. Unfortunately, Sylvia maintained a firm, powerfully persuasive grip on her nether-region, keeping her feet on the ground, if only literally.
But Noelle’d admit one thing for sure, if she could think straight. Despite what she’d told Sylvia and her chauffeur tonight on her streetcorner, she really had believed she was one hundred and one percent hetero, no two ways about it. But present events compelled her to think twice. Feeling bristles massage and torment her now swollen, hardened, erect clit—courtesy of another woman…did not tickle.
Anything, in fact, but. Sylvie had found and awakened something within her Noelle hadn’t found inklings of in three decades. It was amazing. Could she be gay? At least while in the company of a lady? She knew that while with gentlemen she was doubtlessly straight, and yet…could she somehow be straight, and gay? It seemed implausible, even impossible, but still…here she was…indubitably turned on.
Had she been in her rational mind, she’d worry about waking up the others in the house, but Sylvia’d thought of that and planned accordingly. Down here in the buried-away sex cave, not even the most piercing scream could reach all the way to the upper floors, where the staff and servants put themselves to bed. And while on a normal night, Sylvia would have fallen into a deep, deep sleep by now, her timing to fuck with Noelle couldn’t have been much more ideal. The chances anyone would come down here and disturb them were slim and none. And slim was on holiday.
And Noelle was blazing up like a bonfire.
Sylvie smiled up to see the trembling, quaking Noelle in a teeth-gnashing grimace, her sweaty, bangsy head directly back against the leather, as if held there by centrifugal force. Only visible was the bottom half of her face, cringing, wincing, straining for divine release. Her muscles twitched and flexed, trying still like mad to break loose. Her extreme, intense fit made Sylvia so pleased. She just knew the first time she saw Noelle, she could have this lass and bend her to her sexual will, straight, bi or gay. And she loved being right.
Noelle’s trembling knuckles and toes were turning snow-white. Sylvia’d moved on to the next “phase” of her project, no longer rinsing to use different colors or brushes. She simply used the tiny-bristled—and clearly effective—brush to ever so gently circumnavigate Noelle’s erect, bulging, throbbing clit. She brushed up, down and around in circles, methodically driving the girl through a whole new level of crazy. Noelle’s pussy was so wet, its pre-cum ran the drying paint back off. Sylvie didn’t care; she expected this result sooner or later. Her own pussy was getting pretty moist as well. Perhaps she’d do a little artwork of sorts on herself…or have Noelle try her hand at it.
This thought made her happy. She squeezed her left hand between her hot thighs while her right was at quite hard work. She no longer needed Noelle to hold still, or keep her feet on top of the girl’s feet. Noelle stood hoisted on her quivering, curled toes, all but literally driven up the wall. So Sylvia scooted her chair further up, kept focus on rocking the young Noelle’s world, slipped her left hand out of her crotch, stretched it upwards to grip and fondle her right breast, and leaned in to nuzzle and kiss her pelvis, her hip, her tummy. The girl’s nipples stood puffed and erect on their own. This, along with the trickle of sweat Aunt Sylvie felt drip down onto her left hand, flattered her enormously.
The blindfold stayed put, but Noelle saw things she’d never seen before. Shooting stars blasted her in the eyes. Fireworks exploded in her dizzy little head. Her bangs fused in perspiration. Whatever it was tickling her swollen clitty felt like the flame of a candle over her melting cunt, igniting, engulfing her in flames of passion. She didn’t imagine this measure of splendor and divinity existed. She couldn’t bear it, and also didn’t want it to ever end. She realized Aunt Sylvie was making her feel something she never knew she never felt…happiness.
If only she could see it all happening in living color.
But, if she were to make a request right now, she had something else in mind.
“Uhhhhh—…A-Aunt Sylvie…” Noelle drooled out.
Sylvia looked up.
“Ca—…can I plea—…can I please fucking cum??”
The beatific smile again spread across her dear auntie’s cheeks.
“You wanna cum, honey?”
Noelle nodded frantically. “UH-HUH!...”
“You think you’re ready, darling?”
The girl nodded again. “YES! YES!!”
“All done with your punishment, sugar bear?”
Noelle bit her lip, unable to stand much more. “MM-HM!”
“You really really really ready for me to make you orgasm, dearie-pie?”
Noelle pulled as hard as she could on the cuffs, ready to rip her own limbs free.
Sylvia pretended to have to think about it.
She smoothed her left palm down Noelle’s pelvis and thigh, keeping her right hand to task softly ringing the girl’s doorbell. Easing her south paw between and under the SYLF’s inner thighs, Sylvie rubbed her fingertips where the cunt and taint met, warming her up with a little foreplay, even though foreplay was about the last thing Noelle needed right now. Noelle whimpered, trying to hold out patience while Sylvia gathered all her hand-to-mind coordination…and slipped her digits into Noelle’s still puffed-up pussy.
She may not have been ambidextrous, but Sylvia could quite literally pull this off. Squeezing in a trio of soft lady-fingers, she pumped up Noelle’s pussy a second time, now digitally, thrusting northward, trying to reach her g-spot. Noelle felt the penetration, and a heaven-induced smile crossed her own sweaty face.
It was happening…finally…it was happening.
“Oh-ohh-ohh-ohh-OHHH, OHHHHH, OHHHHH!!” Noelle bellowed between rushed gasping breaths, ejaculating enough profanity to make Joan Rivers blush. After all that overwhelming pussy pumping and tickling—however exactly Aunt Sylvie was doing it before versus now—by the time they got to this portion, poor riled Noelle was already fired up like mad. She was still disconcerted her hostess wouldn’t let her move or see, but this kinky setup lent an air of spontaneous mystery to the act. And any disconcertment couldn’t compare to the supremely torrid pleasure surging through her, inside and out.
Sylvia glanced back up to the underside of her chin.
“Yeah?” she asked in response to the girl’s outbursts.
Too flabbergasted to coherently answer, Noelle was getting so close to the edge, she could taste the big, sweet ‘o.’ It was even more deliciously sumptuous having the climax administered by someone else—an older woman, of all individuals. Even in the nature of her normal profession, Noelle’d have been asleep by this time of night. And in the back of her mind, she could tell that when this was over, she wouldn’t have energy left for beans. She was a little curious where exactly she’d be sleeping tonight, guessing she’d eventually find out. But none of that nonsense mattered at the moment. She was being brought closer every second…
…Until Sylvia Quibley at last thrusted up into her just far enough to rub her enigmatically precious g-spot.
…And Noelle Beckman’s very world, as she knew it, exploded.
The sound that came out of her as she flew over the edge put all those before it to shame. Noelle came…thunderously, rapturously, ferociously…thanking Aunt Sylvie profusely with a handful of hot cum and the ultimate SQUEEEEAL. Neither Sylvia nor Noelle had heard such a tremendously overwhelmed SQUEEEEAL in their lives, and neither likely would ever again. While Sylvia didn’t want to make fun of her, she couldn’t help but want to laugh her heart out. She looked up at Noelle with an open-mouthed, incredibly elated grin. She couldn’t believe it. Twenty-four hours ago, she was stupefied with ennui over her dull, solitary state. Now it was twilight, after midnight, and had already become arguably the greatest, happiest day of her life. She couldn’t wait to let the good times keep rolling with her new buddy-girl after this.
Her wrist was starting to kill her, but she didn’t let up until Noelle was all done, and bawled out for auntie to please stop now. Aunt Sylvie honored her request, extracting her cum-covered left hand to the wrist, and dropping her teensy paintbrush in the water with the others. Now spent and completely drained, Noelle slumped down, hanging from her restraints, and fell asleep.
Sunday, April 24th, 2016, 5:42 a.m.
Noelle felt herself stirred to consciousness by a ginger, 47-year-old hand on her shoulder. She moaned through her nose, twitched, and awoke. Trying to get her vision to focus again, the first thing she said was, “…Huh?”
A pleasantly smiling silver-haired vixen ran her digits through Noelle’s sweat-riddled hair.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
No longer blindfolded, Noelle blinked a half-dozen times, and opened up her crusty eyes.
Her hostess nodded, carefully wiping the girl’s eyes for her. “Sleep well?”
“Um…” Noelle couldn’t help but notice she was still cuffed up to the leather mat. “Kinda…”
“Well, I’ll let you go get cleaned up and then I’ll put you to bed…but first I’d like to show you something.”
Sylvia held up a hand mirror. Noelle looked, registered, and let out a surprised yelp.
Her face was speckled in multicolored streaks of paint. She looked like a Native American warrior. One glance down told her the rest of her looked similar, from her neck to the tops of her feet. Just about any and all generable colors in existence were represented somewhere on her skin, in a hundred different designs, lines and shapes. At the same time, her puffed-up pussy had shrunk back to normal. Noelle wasn’t sure what to think or how to feel about this. On one hand, she supposed it looked…pretty. On another, she was a bit freaked out. She thought she could bring to mind what had happened in the past several hours, but…
“Not bad, eh?” smirked her hostess. “You see, my dear Noelle, watercolor painting is my favorite hobby right now. And by sheer coincidence, yesterday, I found a TV show…on the game show channel, of all places…about painting the skin of naked models. And while I couldn’t be on a show like that…” She shrugged. “I thought I’d give it a go.”
Noelle let it all come back to her. So that was what Aunt Sylvie was doing. The whole time. Her suspicious were right.
“Uh…” The girl looked around, darting her eyes, trying to figure out something to say.
“…I see…well, but, uh, Aunt Sylvie, was it really necessary to tie me up and blindfold me?”
“Once again, you betcha, kiddo. We were both new at this, but even so, if I let you move or see while I was painting your special sensitive areas…” She shrugged. “…Let’s be honest: you and I know full well you’d never be able to sit still. And let’s be even more honest: I get a lovely girl in my house, make her get naked for me and tie her up? What part of her do you think I’m gonna paint first?”
She had a point.
“And next time, if you like, you can paint me.”
Noelle’s countenance filled with intrigue.
“Naturally. Provided, that is, of course, you win whatever game we play beforehand.” She winked.
Noelle smiled, remembering the foosball match. Maybe the orgasm played a role, but she had to admit, though still exhausted, she felt happy. More than happy, in fact. Ecstatic. So jovial, she felt like crying some more, but not right now. Sylvia finally uncuffed her and led her out. She’d come back down to collect her toys and supplies later. It was still very early, and very dark outside, Noelle noted with relief. Sylvie then took her to the nearest washroom and started running a nice big bath for her, with bubbles, salts and oatmeal.
“I could help bathe you if you’d like,” she coyly offered.
“Ummm…” Noelle chuckled nervously. “That’s…that-that’s very sweet of you, Aunt Sylvie, but I think I can manage on my own.”
“Well, you go ahead then, honey. I’ll get you a towel and a nice big fluffy robe. And when you’re through, I’ll show you your room.”
“My room?...I can have my own room??”
“Of course, dear! I did offer to let you live here with me last night, didn’t I?
“And it’s entirely up to you, but I’d be honored if you let me brush your hair afterwards, and help you style those beautiful bangs.”
A warm, happy balloon inflated inside Noelle. That was right; she had offered. It was hard to take the old broad seriously until the chauffeur opened that suitcase, but…oh, now Noelle really did want to cry again. Her own home. Where no one knew her. Where she’d be safe. Where those bad people couldn’t find and harass her. Where if anyone did, Aunt Sylvie’s helpers and bodyguards would chase them away. Where this woman could give her all the things no one else could. Where her new adopted aunt could take her shopping, out to eat, spend time with her, play with her, do everything else nobody had before. As Noelle never had many loved ones of her own, and Sylvia’s gradually all abandoned her by way of decease…the two could now find and take happiness, in one another’s hearts and souls.
And Noelle would no longer have to sell her body and dignity on the streets. She found that she’d be granted the most miraculous, wonderful gift of all: the chance to start over again, with a new guardian angel, caretaker, and friend.
Exploring a new world.
In a new home.
A new life.