I smile at the woman kneeling on the floor. Essentially naked, like me, but we wear it differently. For me, it’s my natural state. Anything else is hiding or dressing up who I am. Cunts only wear clothes because they have to. Because of society, because their Masters want it, or to entice strangers. But it’s all artifice. I want nothing but my collar, my plug. She’s embarrassed, excited. The fight or flight sparkles in her wondrous eyes. But I see the truth of her as well. She wants to be here, even if saying such a thing would make her blush even more. I smell the truth of her as well. I could almost taste it in the air, that wetness between her legs. I walk around her, inspecting her. Occasionally my fingertips graze a part of her body. The way she tenses up, uncertain, it makes me lick my lips.

Her hair is dark, long and flowing. Her skin is pale like mine, but more pristine, despite her being nearly ten years older than me. Her chest is impressive, full round globes. A healthy size, handfuls for myself. I can’t wait to taste them. I love the uncertainty on her face, it’s so delicious. I don’t know if I want to kiss her or slap the shit out of her. Maybe both. Despite being older, she doesn’t know who she is, what she wants like I do. Wait, no, that’s a lie. She does. Deep down she knows exactly what she wants. It’s why she’s scared. Why she’s trembling, looking around for him. Because she wants him, she just doesn’t want to admit it out loud. Saying it out loud would cross a line. And that, that’s what she is scared of.

She’s not scared of her fantasies. She’s scared to accept the truth of them. Her truth. Not mine, but there is obviously an overlap. Why else would she be here, otherwise. She wants to meet him, my lover. She’s here for Baxter.

“Tell me again,” I ask her, “What do you want?” She blushes immediately, looking down at the floor. Anxious, meek, but most of all that fear to admit her own cravings.

“I ... I just ... you know. You know why I’m...” she mumbles. I interrupt her with a slap. Harder than she expected, but not hard. Not to me anyway. Her eyes go to shock as I stare at her. I grip her chin, making her look at me. So close, she has to smell my sex as well. Can tell how soaked my cunt is. I wonder if she has a cunt or just a pussy. Sometimes it’s the same, but it’s not. I only know despite the beautiful red spreading on her cheek, just as much wetness is spreading between her legs. I kneel down in front of her as well. She pulls back as I reach for the cheek, then relaxes as I softly rub it, our eyes locked. I lean and kiss her. Her lips are soft, eager, like mine. It’s a tender kiss, soft gliding against softer, our breasts touching, and then I slap her again. I love the wounded look in her eyes.

“You stupid, useless, worthless cunt,” I scream, grabbing her hair. “Why the fuck are you here?” I jerk her head close, licking her cheek, feeling her twitch. Her eyes say everything, the fight going on inside her. She wants to be free. To be let loose. But it terrifies her. I understand, but that’s no excuse.

“Say it!” I scream at her, kissing her again. I’m shaking, trembling. I don’t know this side of me well. I don’t explore it because I don’t trust it. I don’t trust myself. Then another hard slap as her cheek reddens, eyes wet and wide. I can taste the mix of fear and excitement. Crying, unable to meet my eyes, she speaks softly.

“I ... I ... I’m here for Baxter,” she says. I hear her sniffle, overwhelmed with embarrassment at admitting it. It’s almost too much. I can see the flight in her, wanting to flee. It’s gotten too real, too intense, it’s not something she wants she tells herself I’m sure. I’ve been there. That moment, that threshold where you know a single footstep will alter your life forever. She was there. She knew it. She wanted it. But she knew it would change her. I knew the thirst for that change, the fear, I remember it. She had that want to, for herself, for her own Master.

“It’s OK,” I tell her. “Breathe.” She takes a deep breath and I kiss her. Deeply this time. Partly because I want to distract her from her insecurities running rampant in her head, partly because I can’t help myself any longer. I grope her ample chest and tease her nipples. I savor the soft moan that escapes her parted mouth. Then my hands slide down, feeling the wet whose smell is permeating the room. I pull back and offer her my finger. She blushes in the cutest way then takes it in her mouth. Her lips are so soft, mouth so warm. I want to kiss her again. But she isn’t here for me, she is here to learn.

“Look at your wrist,” I tell her, running my fingers through her hair. She nods at me, then pulls up her wrist, words written in tiny, perfect handwriting. Words told her to put there by Master, a word echoed by me. We both see it in her, and so, he wanted her to put them there, so she couldn’t forget it. “What does it say?” I ask her.

“Wonderful,” she answers back, meekly.

“Don’t you ever forget that. Anything you do today will not change it,” I remind her.

I whistle as I stroke her face, letting the back of my hand slide along it, feeling the heat radiating from her cheek. I watch her eyes as she hears the footfalls approaching, the anxiety, the fear, the need, so many elements wrestling within herself. For a second, I think she will run. I remembered when the reality hit me that first time. I would have ran. But to her credit, she doesn’t. Instead, I watch her, smiling when I see her bit her lip. When I see the glean in her eye that says that part of her lost. I sidle up beside her, skin sharing warmth, as he comes inside to join us.

Baxter has always been the quiet sort, just watching us as he enters, sitting in front of us. Always wearing that goofy look on his face. I love him. Not like Jack, but I love him all the same. He’s always accepted me for who I am. No judgment, only a pure love males like him can give. I leave her side and kneel beside him instead. Almost as much as I am Jack’s cunt, am I his bitch. Beneath both of them in the hierarchy of needs in the house. I run my hand along his neck and back. He likes that. He’s eager, excited, he can smell our cunts. But he’s well behaved, just like we are. Patient. At least as patient as he can be.

“Come over here,” I tell her. “Touch him, run your hand along his body.” She did, nervous in her nudity, running her hand along Baxter’s side and back. “Lean in, slowly, smell him. Smell his strength, his maleness, his primal energy. Close your eyes as you do it, imagine that musk on you, penetrating your soul. You’ll smell of him after. It’s a gift from him, that musk, a gift of belonging.”

As she does, I smile. I lean in, let him kiss my mouth, warm, wet tongue awkwardly everywhere. It makes her giggle, which was the intent. Slowly breaking the ice with her, destroying the myth, showing instead the mundanity of it. That it isn’t something unknown, just life. Warm loving life. I let him lick my face and neck, starting to giggle myself. He’s getting antsy, barely able to sit still as we both lovingly run our hands on his body.

I whistle again, snapping my fingers and like a well trained pet, he obeys, getting on all fours. I hold her trembling hand, both of us on opposite sides. I tell Baxter to not move with a simple command and he does. I lean on my side under him and motion for her to do the same. I rub his belly and she does as well. Baxter tries to nose at her cunt, but I snap my fingers. Not time for that. Not yet. He’s already growing. I take her hand and put it on the base of the shaft.