CINNAMON

Lazuli Jones

Sit on the bed. No, not like that. Sit on the other side. Excellent, Miranda. Good girl.” I slid along the bedspread until my body faced the object resting on that side of the bed. The long silk negligee, on loan from Lady Grey, was cool and slippery against my skin. I squirmed, avoiding the object, craning my neck to keep my eyes on Lady Grey.

She was tall, taller than I’d thought, and gorgeous. Mocha skin, curly hair, her eyes smoky and her lips garnet red. A confident figure in her lace and corset. She held a small riding crop in her gloved hand and pointed it at me.

“Don’t look at me. Look over there. Now.” I gulped and not for the first time tonight, the word cinnamon formed in my mouth. Lady Grey had let me choose the safeword and I’d chosen something cute and safe. I could end this at any time. She’d promised me. I’d promised myself.

I looked. In front of me was a wide, full-length mirror. My eyes landed on the negligee draped across my lap and skirted past my face to find Lady Grey’s eyes. My heart pounded. She looked pleased.

“You’re doing great, pet,” she purred. She knelt on the bed. The warm leather of the riding crop tapped my shoulder. “Take this off. Don’t stop until you’re tits-out, or you’ll be punished.”

I could do this. I pulled the straps from my shoulders, letting the negligee fall, baring my chest. It was off-putting, but I could handle this part. Lady Grey had done me a great service earlier: while discussing what I wanted from tonight, while letting me sip some tea and choose my safeword, she’d done something she rarely did for clients, and unlaced her corset.

When I looked in the mirror now, I saw my breasts, the dusky nipples, and the fading scars from my augmentation. Hers had looked the same.

“Touch them,” she commanded. Cinnamon wandered in my head before I obeyed and cupped my breasts, brushed my nipples. A flicker of arousal ignited between my legs and I squirmed on the bed, wanting more, wanting less.

As though sensing the crucial window of opportunity, Lady Grey tapped the riding crop against my hair. My eyes followed the movement, caught her eyes, caught her deliberate pause. “Now strip. Don’t make me punish you, Miranda. Do as I say.”

My hands shook. My fingers sweated against the fabric of the negligee. I hiked it up instead of pulling it down, technically disobeying Lady Grey’s command to strip, but still in the spirit of what she wanted. I pulled the fabric up my thighs, up my hips, shimmying on the bed until the silk was pooled around my waist.

Lady Grey lightly smacked my left thigh. “Spread them. Foot on the bed.”

Cinnamon…

I planted my left heel on the bed, my eyes always on the Dominatrix behind me. She placed the riding crop against the black curls of my hair and sternly said, “Don’t you look at me, Miranda. Do you need to be spanked to obey me? Look at that gorgeous pussy of yours.”

My eyes flickered across the mirror, half-focusing on the dark points of my nipples as they bounced up and down under my heaving breaths. The cool air hit my pussy and I was warm and aroused but the pain and the stitches and I knew it wasn’t going to look perfect right after the surgery but I wasn’t expecting so much swelling and it felt numb and the skin didn’t look right and the stitches and no one told me I’d feel like this and—

“Cinna—”

The riding crop lifted from my hair. In the mirror I saw Lady Grey’s body language shift, waiting for me to finish the word, ready to end everything. The negligee was sweaty in my palm.

“Breathe, Miranda. Good girl.”

The game was still on as long as the word didn’t spill from my lips, and as a Dominatrix commanded me to breathe with her honey-warm voice, I did. I relaxed. Lady Grey had opened more than her corset earlier. We were the same.

I looked.

She followed my gaze and smiled. My pussy looked small, the curls tight and tiny. It wasn’t swollen anymore. The stitches were gone. I could barely see any scars. I was looking at it.

“Touch your gorgeous pussy,” Lady Grey whispered in my ear. I jumped, almost forgetting her presence, feeling guilty at the thought. I wouldn’t have gotten this far without her ordering me to do it. “Touch it until you come.”

I’d barely looked at it in the last year, let alone touched it. Cinnamon tickled my tongue but I swallowed it, letting the tapping of Lady Grey’s riding crop on my wrist goad me to action. I put my palm flat against my pussy, releasing a small sigh. It felt good. I’d read some books and some forum posts about how to go about masturbating now, but none of that mattered at this moment. I touched myself, slid my fingers along the folds, the numbness gone—I hadn’t even realized it was gone—and found what had become my clit. Touching it sent little electric tingles up my pelvis. My chest heaved, not with panic this time, but with passion. I barely noticed when Lady Grey took my hand for a brief moment, rubbed a sweet-smelling lube on my fingers, and let me go back to myself.

I touched and rubbed, my wrist moving quickly in a motion I was learning for the first time, my fingers a blur, feeling myself swell, warm and wet, the tingles growing until the heat of unfamiliar orgasm bubbled between my legs. I panted, shivered, pushed out an expletive or two, and when the delicious pleasure faded, Lady Grey was there behind me, supporting my back, supporting me.

“Good girl, Miranda,” she purred. “Good girl…”