Dee's Story
Chapter 3

Copyright© 2011 by Misstaken

BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Dee is a character from another much longer forthcoming story, this is her back story and so is not a 'spoiler'. If you enjoy lesbian BDSM this might be for you.

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa   Consensual   NonConsensual   Lesbian  

Being naked whilst Chris was still dressed was a new sensation, the feel of my bare body held and moulded against leather was arousing, not as arousing as what Chris was doing though.

I cried out when she pinched my nipples, really pinched them, fuck that hurt... !! My body froze, my head snapping up as I screamed into her face, eyes watching me, she was smiling... !! Smiling and still pinching, I was tensing to rip myself away, to grab my clothes and run, the look in her eyes made me pause, her words stopped me dead.

"Stop." Her voice commanding. "Feel." Her hand dropped to my pussy, fingers releasing my nipple, the pain increasing as blood rushed back, "feel," her fingers entered me, three fingers, deep, easy. I was so wet, and her fingers felt so good, her kiss made it better, her tongue writhing against mine, overpowering mine, it took a while to realise my nipple still hurt like hell, trapped by her finger and thumb. I caught myself about to scream, then bite it back, let the pain mix with the feel of her fingers inside me, pleasure and pain, as I let both flow through me I lost all control, my body rigid as the orgasm struck, so sudden, so intense, it felt scary, like maybe I was having a fit?

Right then I could only feel, I had no control, no experience, nothing to compare with, Rhonda had made me cum, given me my first orgasm, but nothing like this, nothing like Chris, I sunk deeper into her arms as I panted for breath and moaned at every aftershock. I knew I had a lot to learn, I wanted to learn, I lifted my head to kiss her, "thank you, thank you, thank you." I used kisses for punctuation.

Some things I will never forget. Some of that night is hazy, but certain things stand out, glistening on the beach of memory. The sound of her heels on the wooden floor as she led me to her bedroom, a leather clad woman taking her rag doll to the toy-box. Undressing her that first time, the smell of her, kissing her skin as I pealed back the leather. Watching us in the mirrored headboard as I knelt on hands and knees, her fingers buried in my hair as her strap-on thrust in and out of my ass and her fingers spanked and pinched my ass and clit. The look in her eyes as she shaved my pussy. Watching her eyes roll back as I ate her to orgasm the first time.

Late in the night we slept, Chris on her back, me snuggled to her side, my head on her shoulder, her long black hair sticking to my breasts, still damp with sweat and cum. It felt so good, just to feel her warmth, her arm around me.

I awoke to a stinging slap on my ass. "Coffee... !!"

Chris sat cross-legged on the bed as we drank our coffee, her smile made me want her, I drained my mug and put it in the nightstand, but as I reached for her she grabbed my wrist, "Oh no you don't my little minx, we have things to do and a shop to run." Still gripping my wrist she dragged me out from beneath the covers and into the bathroom, spinning me around to sit me on the toilet, "hurry up, I want to scrub your back," she grinned and left me there, whilst she headed for the shower.

Growing up as I did, embarrassment was never an issue, I spent a lot of time alone, content to go unnoticed as I watched and sketched, but that does not mean I was shy, if I want something I'm far from shy, it's just that I've never been in the spotlight, only the shadows, Chris put me very much in her spotlight and I found I liked it, liked it a lot.

Back in the bedroom I realised I had done nothing about washing or at least rinsing my clothes, Chris was way ahead of me. A pair of leather trousers whistled past my head, "try those on," I did, not a perfect fit, but good enough, "now this" which looked like a plain white T-shirt, but proved to have a logo on the front, the logo seemed to draw attention to my tits and my barely concealed nipples, it wasn't big, just perfectly centred on my chest, a three-quarter rainbow with arty script beneath, 'caran d'ache'. With my boots I looked different, Chris obviously approved, judging from the way her hand moved on my leather clad ass.

Just before we headed out the door Chris stopped me, holding me tight as she kissed me long and deep, until my heart raced and I felt my pussy tingle. Then she placed her hands on my shoulders, pushing me back so we were at arms length, "up here we play, downstairs we work, understood?"

I lifted my arms, palms flat together, and whilst doing my best 'karate kid' bow, "yes ma'am."

"Very funny grasshopper, now lets go earn the money to play."

And so started my first day working for Chris. Not a well paid job, not that I cared, but the perks were wonderful, when not busy I could still sketch, although I couldn't go wandering to find new subjects, and of course sharing Chris's flat and bed was great too.

I understood style, maybe not as they teach it, but from seeing it in action, the way bands, at least the bigger ones dressed and acted to present an image, more interesting was the art, the posters and album covers, all different but all selling the band's image. For the first time I began to think about my style, my image. It took a while but slowly I build my own style, my own image, not just clothes, but me, myself, time to decide how I wanted to live my life. Chris was not responsible for it, but she did give me the chance to make it happen. For the first time ever I was earning money and putting down roots, not permanent ones, I was not that naïve.

As the weeks passed I grew up, I learned to use the shop's computer, learned how the gallery operated, dealt with customers and artists, suppliers and even models. Chris was an inspiring teacher, always willing to help me learn, and quick to back me up if there was a problem. Sure she was getting an assistant at a bargain basement price, but whilst I was aware of that it never bothered me, after all, I couldn't afford the lessons I was learning.

Chris's lessons didn't stop with work either, she liked her sex often and kinky, I just liked sex, she lead, I followed, sometimes warily, sometimes eager to rush ahead, sometimes so much she needed to restrain me, literally, on occasion.

At weekends we played. As soon as the shop closed at five we were off, we met up with Chris's friends, went to parties, travelled to kinky events all over the country. My introduction to kink was eclectic, revolving around Chris's preferences at first, though as time passed I wanted to try things that she had already tried and rejected. Mostly she would indulge me, but sometimes she refused. At first it was for reasons that made perfect sense, later it seemed she wanted to control me, as if concerned that I might get into something she disliked and the friction would tear us apart.

From that first night it became a habit to be naked in the flat, even though Chris remained dressed. As I learned more about sex, the endless kinks and of course BDSM, I began to understand my own sexuality, separating what sounded fun from that which was fun in practise, fantasy from fact, much like my sketches evolved to reflect my adventures. At parties and events I found images that inspired me to sketch, sometimes even paint, something I'd never had the chance to do as much as I'd have liked, but which the gallery in it's quiet moments afforded me the time to do.

I found myself drawn to the faces and the bodies, especially those lost in pleasure or pain, or both. As Chris and I played with ever more intensity I found I could relate to those images, my sketches all the better for understanding.

 
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