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She took my chin in her hand, gripped me rough. This wasn’t the Rebecca I knew, but it wouldn’t be, because this wasn’t Rebecca at all. This was Raven.MistressRaven.
“Don’t ever question me again. I speak, you obey.”
I dropped to my knees without hesitation. “Sorry, Raven.”
“Mistress,” she hissed. “You’ll call me Mistress.”
“Sorry, Mistress.” My pulse raced like a jackhammer, nerves on fire.
She hitched her skirt, bunching it high around her waist to reveal just a tiny pair of lace panties. She swept the hair back from my face, holding a hand possessively against my scalp. “You’re going to eat my pussy now, Cat, and if you want any fucking chance of this plan of yours working out, I’d better believe you’re fucking hungry for it.” She spread her legs, and yanked my head towards her. I breathed her in, a musky smell of sex so familiar and yet so alien. “Pull my panties to the side.”
I did as she asked. Her mound was smooth against my fingers. “Do you want this, Cat?”
My throat made a strange moan as I answered. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Good girl. Now lick my fucking pussy.”
I licked her fucking pussy.
***
I braced myself as I took a seat, tender flesh keen to remind me of Raven’s paddle. She’d hit me good. She’d hit me hard. And I’d loved every single minute of it. I brushed my fingers across my nostrils. I could still smell her. I smiled to myself.
“You seem happy today, Cat’s eyes,” James said, handing me the itinerary ahead of Thursday’s meeting. “If you can think of anything to add, now’s the time to say.”
I scanned through it, leaning back into the leather chair I’d been spending more and more time in of late. “Looks good to me.”
“Fine. I think it’s all there from our end, I’ll send it over to Trevor White for his final approval.”
“This is really it, huh? Stage one sign-off looming, the minute all our work becomes worthwhile.”
“I never took you for such a sentimentalist, Lydia,” he said. “Anyway, don’t get too carried away, we’ve still got stages two and three to pull off. Plenty can go wrong yet.”
“I think it will go great,” I said, idly.
“That kind of assumption leads to complacency. We need to stay on the boil.”
“Yes, sir,” I smiled. “Lydia Marsh on the boil, sir.”
His look was stern, but there was amusement behind it, I could tell. His eyes glittered like black diamonds, and I fought the urge to poke my tongue out at him, revelling in a high I’d never felt before. Cara hadn’t been wrong.There’s this rush, when it hurts, and then a peace. It’s so beautiful.She’d missed out the euphoric afterglow, the excitement, as though your soul is bursting through your skin.
“Are you mocking me, Miss Marsh? I don’t take well to mockery.”
“I’m not mocking you,” I said. “I’m just happy.”
“And what can have possibly made you so happy between Monday evening and Tuesday morning?” he asked, leaning forwards with his elbows on the desk.
My eyes glanced to his metal ruler, just to the side of him. Images of Masque flashed into my mind all over again.
“I guess I’m finding a whole new me. A happier me.”
“Nothing like a break-up to aid a little self-reinvention.”
“Seems not,” I grinned. “I’m beginning to think maybe Carly Winters did me a favour after all.”
“That’s a bold statement for such early days.”
“Sure is.” I turned the pages of the itinerary, scouting the notes beyond. An email from Trevor White with some earlier amendments. A suggestion of a management round-up after lunch and a proposed evening meal. The evening meal had been crossed out in biro. “Was this you?” I asked, holding it out for him to view.
