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"Like tight shirt and pants, buckled boots, long coat and the eye liner?"
"Dog collar, spiky bracelets?"
"And pewter rings with skulls and bats." He nodded. "Nope, don't have any of that."
She elbowed him. "Dress up for me sometime?"
"Whenever you want. Anything you want." He ran a thumb along her lip.
"I woke up...aroused," she whispered.
"Wet?" he murmured. His thumb passed over the flush in her cheek. "Want me to do anything about that for you?"
"Yeah. But Lyda said no." She caught a strand of his hair, the movement causing others to spill forward over her knuckles. She twisted them around her fingers. "Remind me what happens if we do something she says not to do?"
"It depends. Being disrespectful, a brat topping from the bottom, trying to force a Dom's hand, isn't good for anyone. It's sketchier when your Mistress has set you up, knowing you won't be able to resist getting in trouble. If she thinks we did it to incur punishment in a good way like that, then she'd do something like what she did tonight."
She sighed. "Under the word irresistible in the dictionary, there's a picture of you. She knows it. Sadistic bitch."
His expression reflected fondness, as if Gen had used an endearment. In his world, it probably was. "Maybe she intended for me to get into the 'good' kind of trouble when she offered to let me take you home tonight. But now I feel like I owe her something. I need to clear the air with her."
He nudged her with his elbow. "At least tell me why you woke up hot and bothered."
"Not a chance. You're as bad as she is."
He chuckled again. She was gratified to see regret at her refusal, though, his sexual frustration banked with visible effort. His fingers lingered on her mouth, daring a brief brush on the top of her breast before he brought his hands back to himself. "Well, then. How about I play this phallic symbol for you instead?"
She'd much rather play with his actual phallus. Yet even when she tried to lay it out in her head, she couldn't go there. She'd stepped over some line with Lyda and she felt it, like a knife edge.
So she made him play her some Air Supply instead. The haunting strains of "Sweet Dreams", Noah's pleasant tenor murmuring the words, were just the thing to put her back to sleep.
Yeah, right.
*
Noah told her Lyda's "Extreme Fit" class was held early in the morning, well before Gen was due for her ten a.m. shift at Tea Leaves. Accordingly, Gen was dressed and ready to go in time to give Noah a cup of coffee when he came into the kitchen with damp hair and a towel wrapped around his waist. He slid an arm around her and pressed a teasing kiss at the corner of her lips. When she gave him the cup, she let her hands wander unimpeded over his back and cup the curves of his terrycloth-covered ass. Giving her a wicked grin, he took his time sliding away. At the doorway, he removed the towel with a flourish and draped it over his shoulder, making her laugh outright as he worked a casual saunter back to the bathroom. When she fired a throw pillow at him, she wished her hallway was an endless treadmill.
Today Noah was headed out to do construction debris removal for a guy who occasionally called him in for that kind of work. Once he was dressed, Gen saw him to the door, watching him stride up to the car of the friend picking him up. As he turned and gave her a nod, she imagined him in that Goth outfit. It took an act of will not to indulge herself in a quick five minute release with her vibrator. Instead she found her purse and keys and headed out to Blood, Sweat and Tears.
Traffic caused her to run a few minutes late, so the class had already started when she arrived. She told herself she didn't have to be nervous about that, since she wasn't there to participate. Even so, she felt like a kid sliding into class past the bell. She slipped into a corner in the back, where a couple chairs had been left against the wall.
Despite her attempt to be unobtrusive, Lyda's gaze flicked to her the moment she hit the door. The woman gave her a spare nod, but didn't pause in barking orders.
"Work it. Even a warm-up requires a hundred percent effort. I better not see anyone dragging their ass this morning, or this is going to be a bitch for all of you. If it's burning, embrace it. If it screams at you, scream back."
Gen had taken various fitness classes over the years, all of which she considered demanding. Gen approached exercise like annual doctor visits--a necessary evil to be dreaded, but she had enough discipline to keep herself trim and healthy. Compared to this, those classes were toddler aerobics. As they swung from the warm-up into high-cardio, Lyda was relentless. No one was allowed to shirk. If a knee was supposed to be lifted, she damn well expected it to bump against the person's chest. She could gauge a ninety degree angle on a squat with barely a glance. Arm movements were supposed to be one hundred percent controlled, maximum resistance on the punches, stretches, pulls.
As awe-inspiring as all that was, watching the instructor was what held Gen's attention. Lyda said she liked Gen's soft places, but Gen found she really liked all of Lyda's not-so-soft places. She wore a tight black tank and mid-thigh exercise shorts with her thick-soled exercise shoes. Her red hair was pulled up in a tail. No makeup, her face all the more striking for the lack of embellishment. The smooth muscles in her arms and legs rippled, her ass absolutely erotic art in motion as she strode back and forth, alternating between brusque direction and performing the same exercises as her students, who were giving it one hundred twenty percent. Maybe because they were exercise fanatics like the woman leading them, but maybe just as much because she scared the shit out of them.
Everything about Lyda should have fed into the "butch" stereotype. She was assertive, bisexual, extremely physical. As commanding as a general. But what struck Gen was how incredibly female Lyda always seemed to her. Maybe part of it was the amazing softness Gen had had the privilege of glimpsing during their intimate encounters. A way she turned her head, a flash in her eye, the curve to her lips. Lyda had no desire to be or act like a man. She was a strong, dominant woman, and Gen realized there was nothing more female than that. Every quality to her, even those usually attributed to men, fit who Lyda was as a woman.
She expected her attention to wander during the forty-five-minute class. Instead, every movement of Lyda's body, every word from that distracting mouth, the delicate lines of her throat as she turned her head, the clench of her fists as she took them into mixed martial arts and boxing moves as part of the routine, just pulled Gen in deeper. It was like being caught in a dream, like last night, only this wasn't a nightmare.
Every once in a while Lyda's gaze would touch upon her, but only enough to feed Gen's hunger. Gen had placed her tote next to her and sat in the chair with her hands in her lap, her legs crossed. She couldn't help wondering what would happen if...
Knowing she was risking deep embarrassment, she adjusted so she was sitting up straight, her back against the chair's straight back. Her feet were now flat on the floor. The lavender T-shirt she wore for Tea Leaves today molded to her curves, a V-neck showing cleavage. Her knit skirt stretched over her hips and stopped at mid-thigh, a comfortable style for casual wear that went well with her rhinestone sandals and showed off her legs. Lyda liked her legs.
This classroom didn't have mirrors. The only one facing her was Lyda, unless she had them do an unexpected spin. But right now they were on the floor doing pushups, as if genuflecting while she stalked through their ranks. Working up her courage, Gen adjusted so her thighs were parted. Not porno style, but a few significant inches. With her back straight and hands resting on the sides of the chair seat, her breasts were lifted. She was putting herself on display for her Mistress, showing deference.
