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Although she felt pleasure, her face twisted into anger. The spirit of the wolf erupted from her, teeth baring, claws slicing through the air, her most primal instincts begging her to finish her rutting and tear out Jacqueline’s throat in the audience. If she were Yin and Helen Yang, then she gave her too much now.
Her Domme was quickly losing herself, no matter how much she tried to hold back. The audience would love to see her make Monique come. They wanted to see Helen succumb to her like that. They wanted her climax to make that composed Domme come undone, the true sign of their mutual pleasure.
Monique wanted to prove that Helen was the only person who could do that to her.
As she shot a thousand daggers into Jacqueline’s eyes, she came, her body filling with rolling waves of pleasure that nearly knocked her off her feet and sent her sprawling to the ground – assuming there were no bindings holding her up.
Since her concentration floated elsewhere, her orgasm not only surprised herself but dragged her to another plane of existence that only Helen Warner could give her. She was high. Her mind escaped the dark club, laughing in the faces of everyone who wanted to see her be denied pleasure and then forced to take it. She felt more powerful than she ever had since the day she realized she wanted to serve and submit.
She was so high that Jacqueline couldn’t touch her.
A cry of relief burst from her body, her core holding on to Helen, refusing to let her go. She kept her grounded, as a Domme should, but Helen could not keep her from releasing the scream she had kept pent up inside her for ten years.
“Thank you, Mistress!” Monique exclaimed. The clamps on her nipples tightened. Helen’s touch on her clit quickened. Her thrusts gave way to stillness, letting her ride out her orgasm while the world came crashing down around them. “I love you, Ms. Warner!”
The hand holding her thigh tightened before Helen’s climax. In front of half the world’s elite, Helen Warner grunted in distinguished authority and slammed the strap-on forward one last time. Claimed, Monique let herself fall from the brief glimpse of subspace she had, her mind returning to her body.
Fatigue washed over her, but she could not fall from it as she wished. She still had to stare at Jacqueline, lips taut, ego bruised. For as much as she didn’t mind watching “her” woman get fucked by another Domme, she was not charmed by the aftermath.
Helen released her. Monique’s right foot touched the ground, her true Mistress’s touch lingering on her thighs as gravity attempted to claim her. The bindings gave in to the pressure she put on them and allowed her to sink to her knees. Helen put her booted foot on Monique’s rear as if to kick her over.
Instead, she pulled on the end of her leash, forcing Monique to her hands as one clamp came undone and clattered to the floor.
“Do you belong to me?”
Her voice was both in the ear and a million miles away. Monique looked up, locking her eyes with Jacqueline’s for what may be the final time in her life.
“Yes, Ms. Warner,” she gasped. “I belong to you.”
“You’re pretty happy about that, aren’t you?”
A diabolical smile crossed Monique’s subdued face. “You have no fucking idea.”
Monique wasn’t a knight. She couldn’t cut off the dragon’s head on her own. She could only distract it with her wiles and beauty. So while Helen ripped the corset from her partner’s body, stripping her completely bare in front of the audience, Monique sent every ounce of emotion she had right into Jacqueline’s face.
Helen left her on the stage, still bound and spent on the floor. She lost her strength and collapsed onto her side, although hereyes never left Jacqueline’s. Even while her Mistress’s kisses covered her skin for everyone to adore, those same people were too busy focusing on Helen Warner – who made a grand ascent into the audience carrying Monique’s soiled corset.
She stopped in front of Jacqueline’s seat and dropped the corset into her lap, like a knight dropping a sword on the dragon’s neck.
Never before had Monique heard such a large group of people fall utterly, reverently silent. She wanted to laugh, but she was so tired that the only sound she could make was a peep of retribution.
Chapter 34
Her Healing Hands
The height of summer was not bad that year. Every time Monique thought it a tad too hot, a cool breeze tickled her skin until she relented. Today, especially, it was refreshing.
Of course, it helped that she rode in Helen’s Rolls-Royce, a blue Drophead Coupe that tore down the countryside highway.
The sun warmed her skin, but the breeze kept her cool, especially with her hair tied down and her sunglasses shielding the debris out of her face. Beside her, Helen drove with one hand on the wheel and the other hanging over the edge of the driver-side door.
It felt like another paradisiacal weekend in their life together. Not that it was a bad thing. Monique had no problem spending her days at Helen’s house, in town with her, on a beach in the Caribbean, or even in her own Manoir where Helen sometimes came to spend the night, even if it was out of her way.
Their current arrangement wasn’t ideal, but it would do. Monique wanted to keep the Manoir going until she was confident enough to leave it entirely in June’s hands. Otherwise, she prepared to move in permanently with Helen, the Warner Manor about to acquire one new resident. The East Wing sorely needed another woman’s touch, anyway.
My future is mine.She was glad to spend it with Helen, however.
They turned down a familiar road leading up into the mountains. Here summer felt more like spring, the air chillier, the plants blooming green instead of brown. Yet Monique shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.
