Dressed to Obey Ch. 02

All characters are fictional and over the age of 18.

It had been four days since Linda walked out of that store, since she'd touched lace like it might bite, since Tina had looked at her with those sharp, knowing eyes and peeled something raw open inside her. And in those four days, Linda had done everything she could to pretend it hadn't happened.

She cooked. She folded laundry. She dropped the boys off at school, browsed headlines, refilled the soap dispenser. Life. Normal. Quiet. Guilt-riddled. But it wouldn't let her go. The memory of Tina's voice still lived in her chest like an echo: "Follow me." The way she'd said it. Not a suggestion. A command. And Linda had followed.

Now, on this dim Wednesday afternoon, Linda sat in her parked car in the supermarket parking lot, still holding the receipt from the butcher, wondering why her heart wouldn't stop racing. Her phone buzzed once. She jumped. It was a message from an unknown number. Her stomach flipped before she even opened it.

It read:

"Meet me at the store. Tomorrow. 2 p. m."

No name. No signature. Just a sentence. But Linda knew. Knew it like the goosebumps rising on her arms, like the sudden flush between her thighs. It was Tina. Of course it was Tina. Linda didn't answer. Just stared at the message, breathing slow and shaky through her nose, clutching the phone like it might burn her.

She should delete it. She should laugh. She should tell Mark. She should do anything but what she was doing. Which was... reading it again. Her thighs pressed tighter together. She felt the wetness gather between them like a truth she couldn't silence.

Tomorrow.

2 p. m.

The store.

She closed her eyes and the vision bloomed unbidden: the soft pink light, the velvet curtains, Tina's fingers brushing the collar of her coat. The way she hadn't asked if Linda wanted help. She'd just given it. Linda swallowed. Her phone buzzed again.

"Don't be late."

She stared at it. Then locked her phone. Then unlocked it again, just to read it once more. Don't be late. She wasn't sure whether it was fear or arousal prickling up the back of her neck. Maybe both. And maybe that's what made her whisper to herself in the quiet of the car:

"I won't..."

The afternoon light had gone cool by the time Linda started dinner, soft shadows spilling across the kitchen tiles as she stood barefoot at the stove, her sweater sleeves pushed to her elbows and her hair twisted into a messy knot that clung to the nape of her neck with heat and sweat. The sauce simmered low and slow, garlic and crushed tomatoes thick in the air, but she barely noticed it. Her body moved on autopilot. Stir. Taste. Adjust. Her mind, however, was elsewhere.

Tina's message still hummed in her pocket like a secret with a heartbeat. She hadn't answered it. But she hadn't deleted it either. Instead, she'd spent the entire day drifting through the edges of her own home like a ghost in her own skin. She folded towels and didn't feel the fabric. Loaded the dishwasher and couldn't recall what she'd cooked. Her thoughts curled back, over and over, to the boutique, to the dressing room, to the quiet power in Tina's eyes, to the way she didn't ask. She told.

Linda stirred the sauce again, her hips shifting slightly as she reached for the pepper mill. Her leggings clung damply to the curve of her ass, the cotton riding up between her cheeks with every stretch and movement. Her nipples pressed against the inside of her bra, swollen and sensitive. Not because of anything Mark had done. But because she couldn't stop imagining what Tina might do tomorrow.

Behind her, she heard his steps. Casual. Soft. The familiar shuffle of a man who had always known this kitchen, this woman, this life. Mark stepped in close and slid his hands over her hips, fingers warm and easy. His chest pressed to her back and he kissed the space between her shoulder blades, lazy and affectionate. One hand drifted forward, cupping her breast through the worn cotton of her top, giving it a squeeze. His other hand moved lower, palming her ass, giving it a slow, firm grab like it was his and he'd forgotten how long it had been since he reminded her. Linda didn't flinch. She didn't melt. She didn't move at all.

Mark's hands stilled. He kissed her neck. "Hey. You okay?" She didn't turn. "Yeah. I'm fine." He held her a second longer, his hand still resting over her breast, waiting for something. A sound. A shift. Anything. But she just stood there, wooden spoon still in her hand, eyes fixed on the sauce, her skin too quiet beneath his touch. Mark let go. Slowly. Gently. Like setting something fragile down. She didn't look at him as he stepped away. Because in her mind, Tina was already behind her. Not Mark. Tina's breath was at her ear, not asking how she was, not touching to comfort or to coax. Touching because she could. Because she'd earned the right. Linda stirred the pot again. Slower this time. Her thighs pressed together. She barely noticed Mark leave the room. She barely noticed anything. Except the soft weight of the message still waiting in her pocket and the clock that was ticking toward tomorrow.

The bedroom was quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan and the soft rustle of silk as Linda moved past the dresser. She'd just washed her face and applied the faintest trace of moisturizer, the scent of lavender still clinging to her wrists as she bent forward to pick up her glass of water, the short robe riding high over the curve of her ass. It was pale pink, almost translucent in the light, the hem skimming the lowest curve of her cheeks. Beneath it, a sliver of black lace framed the round shape of her hips and her thong barely covering anything, more suggestion than garment.

Mark was already in bed, propped up on one elbow, watching her. She felt his gaze. It slid down her back and settled where the robe parted slightly, exposing the soft dip of her lower back and the edge of her thong. Her breasts swayed with each step, the silk falling open just enough to show the generous underside of one nipple, flushed and full, heavy and swinging softly with each breath. "You look incredible," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and something else. "Jesus, Linda... it's been so long." She didn't respond right away. She turned toward her side of the bed, reaching to turn off the lamp. The robe clung to her hips when she moved, the tie loose now, the sides gaping just enough to frame the deep shadow of cleavage and the gentle hang of her tits. He sat up fully, legs swinging over the edge of the bed, eyes locked on her like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"Can you... can you take the robe off?" he asked, quietly. "Just for me. Let me see."

Linda hesitated. Her stomach twisted. She wasn't thinking about him. Not really. Not his need or his hunger or the weeks he'd gone without touching her. Her thoughts were thick with someone else. The scent of that store. The way Tina had looked at her, like she knew what her nipples would taste like before even asking.

But still, she loosened the tie. The robe slipped down her shoulders, soft and slow, catching for a moment on the swell of her tits before falling to the floor in a whisper of silk. She stood there in nothing but the black lace thong, her nipples flushed and tight in the air, the weight of her breasts hanging low and perfect, their curve both maternal and obscene. Her stomach was soft, feminine, the way flesh should be when it's been lived in. Her thighs touched. Her ass was thick, full, round, framed perfectly by the thin black straps of lace riding high over her hips.

"Turn," Mark said softly. "Spin for me."

She turned slowly, letting him see. Her breasts shifted with gravity, her ass jiggled subtly with every step. She faced him again and didn't smile. His cock was already out, small and pale against his thigh, twitching with need. He looked up at her, blinking. "Will you... just suck me a little? I miss getting sucked."

Linda exhaled. Her lips parted, but not to answer. Just to breathe. Her body wasn't cold. But it wasn't his she was aching for. Still, she walked toward the bed. She knelt between his knees, her heavy breasts resting against her chest as she leaned in. She wrapped one hand around his cock, soft fingers curling gently around the shaft. He groaned immediately, his hips twitching upward. Her mouth found the head, lips wrapping around it, warm and slow, her tongue barely flicking across the tip. He moaned again, loud in the quiet room. "God, your mouth feels so good. I've missed this so much... Don't stop."

She didn't. Not really. But her rhythm never changed. There was no hunger in the way she moved. Just slow, practiced obedience. Her tongue stroked, her lips sucked gently, her hand moved in lazy circles around the base. His cock pulsed. His thighs shook. She closed her eyes and saw someone else entirely.

"Lie down," Mark said softly, already climbing over her. Linda pulled herself back onto the bed without speaking, her body settling into the center of the mattress with a slow, breathless sigh. She stretched out against the sheets, thighs parting slightly as she shifted into place. Her breasts spread across her chest, heavy and full, the flesh soft and pale in the low bedside light, nipples still flushed from her mouth being around him. They curved naturally to either side of her ribs, each breath she took making them rise and sway with gentle weight. Her belly was soft and real, not flat but not unshapely either, a lived-in kind of beauty that softened where it curved between her hips and led down to the little black triangle of lace that barely covered her pussy.

The thong had been tugged aside earlier when she knelt, and now it sat crooked, exposing the glistening slit between her thighs. Her lips were puffy, dark with blood, wet from her slow arousal. She was open and visible in a way that made her heart race, not from excitement. But from the strange feeling of being looked at without being seen.

Mark climbed between her legs, pressing the tip of his cock against her entrance. His breath hitched when he felt how wet she was. "God... you're soaked," he murmured, and she didn't answer. He pushed in slowly, his cock sliding into her with ease, stretching her walls just enough to make her gasp, but not enough to satisfy that deeper ache. She closed her eyes. His hands gripped her hips as he began to thrust, gentle at first, his breath ragged, his body pressing into hers with need that felt too urgent for the mood she was in. He moaned like he hadn't been touched in months. His hips slapped softly against the inside of her thighs, the sound of wet skin filling the space between them.

Linda tried. She let herself breathe with the rhythm. Let her body react. Her nipples tightened. Her legs wrapped loosely around his waist. Her pussy clenched with every stroke, the slow, thick pressure of him just starting to stroke something inside her. She shifted her hips to meet him, found the rhythm, found the place where it began to feel like something more than duty. But just as her breathing started to deepen and her fingers curled against the sheets, Mark let out a soft groan. His body stiffened. His thrusts grew faster, shallower.

"Oh... fuck, I'm gonna..."

One more push. He moaned into her shoulder and came with a sharp breath, his cock twitching inside her, warmth spilling deep. And then it was over. He collapsed against her, panting, body heavy and content. He kissed her neck and whispered, "God, that was so good... I've missed that."

Linda stared at the ceiling, her thighs still damp, her body still open. Her pussy throbbed with need, still clenching, still waiting. Her nipples were hard. Her clit ached. Her breath came shallow, not from pleasure but from the sudden sharp edge of disappointment. She didn't say anything. Mark kissed her cheek again, already slipping out of her, and rolled onto his back, satisfied. Linda reached for the sheet. Covered herself slowly. Her legs were still spread slightly. Her pussy still wet. But she was alone again. Not in the bed but in the feeling.

The morning after, the house smelled like weak coffee and buttered toast, sunlight pushing through the kitchen blinds in long, dusty slats. Linda sat at the table in her robe, legs crossed, her fingers wrapped loosely around a mug she hadn't sipped from in over ten minutes. Her hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the edges. No makeup. No earrings. Just her bare skin, flushed at the cheeks from hot water and restless sleep. Mark sat across from her in the same gray T-shirt he'd slept in, looking unusually content. He'd buttered her toast. He'd refilled her coffee. He was smiling in that quiet, post-coital way that men did when they'd gotten what they wanted. Every now and then his eyes drifted to her chest where the robe gaped slightly open. He didn't say anything vulgar. Just smiled to himself, pleased.

"That was... nice last night," he said, reaching for the jam. "I missed that. We should do it more often."

Linda didn't look up from her cup. "Mm," she hummed softly. Her shoulders stayed stiff. She shifted slightly in her chair, thighs rubbing under the robe. She was still sore, it was not from the sex, but from being left unfinished. Her clit had pulsed all night like it knew what it had been denied. Mark chuckled, thinking her silence meant shyness. "You wore that robe again," he said, grinning at her chest. "God, you know what that does to me."

She didn't answer. Just pulled the lapels closed a little more tightly. Her pussy still felt tender, raw in the way a woman feels when she's been used but not truly touched. She stared at the window. The trees outside were moving just slightly, their leaves catching the early breeze like whispers through a dream. Then her phone buzzed against the table. She blinked and reached for it. A moment of focus returned to her face. She saw the name and smiled before she even answered.

"Hi, baby," she said, her voice softening immediately. "Oh my god. I miss you so much."

It was Olivia, their oldest. Her voice crackled through the speaker, warm and casual. "Hey, Mom. Don't freak out, but I was thinking I might come visit next weekend. Just for a few days. There's a party on Saturday. A bunch of people from high school are gonna be home. Thought I'd crash at the house if that's okay?" Linda's face lit up, and for the first time since the night before, her body relaxed slightly. "Are you kidding me? Of course. I'd love that. It's been too long." Her voice was brighter now. There was color in it. Her shoulders eased. "Do you want me to pick you up from the station?"

"Yeah, maybe. I'll text you the time," Olivia said. "I just... I don't know. I kind of miss home."

"I miss you too," Linda said, her chest swelling, a lump catching quietly in her throat.

"I'll get the guest room ready. I'll make your favorite pasta. Just come. Whenever."

Mark looked up from his toast and gave her a little smile. He mouthed, "Olivia?" and she nodded, her fingers brushing her hair behind her ear. When she hung up, she was still smiling softly. For a moment, she wasn't in the kitchen with her husband or her body or her aching frustration. She was just a mother. Remembering a girl who used to live under this roof, who used to curl up beside her with tea and talk about boys and books and her future.

Linda reached for her coffee again and took a sip, finally. It was cold. But it tasted like something real. Mark left just after eight, the usual kiss on the cheek, the scent of his aftershave lingering in the air as the front door clicked shut behind him. Linda watched from the window, her arms folded over her robe, coffee cooling untouched on the counter. The boys were already gone. The silence in the house stretched wide and heavy, but her pulse had started to pick up. A slow, deliberate heat between her thighs. The clock read 8:12. Too early. Still hours to go.

She took her time. Picked out a bra, then changed her mind. No bra. She put on pair of tight black jeans and a white blouse, soft and thin, clinging to her breasts. She didn't button it all the way. Her nipples showed faintly. She saw it in the mirror and didn't fix it.

Her underwear was simple. A black lace thong that hugged the slope of her ass just right. Her perfume was vanilla, with a drop of something animal beneath it. Her lips painted nude. She didn't want to look like she was trying. But she was.

By eleven, she couldn't sit still. By noon, her thighs were pressed tight under the table, her foot tapping. By one-thirty, she was in the car. Her heart felt like it was pulsing behind her breasts. When she arrived, the store was quiet, humming with ambient music and soft track lighting. Everything shimmered, lace, satin, blush-toned mannequins with hard nipples and open thighs. But Tina wasn't there. It was just Camilla behind the counter. Her hair was slicked into a bun and she looked up and smiled, knowing.

"Hi," Linda said, her voice too soft, too uncertain. "I... is Tina here?" Camilla didn't answer at first. Just smiled, reached below the counter, and pulled out a small black envelope and a key, it was a plain key with a white tag that read STAFF ONLY.

"She left this for you."

Linda took it with her trembling fingers. Slid one nail under the flap and opened the note. The paper was thick. The handwriting slanted, neat, unmistakable.

Go to the staff toilet. Use the key.

The blindfold is at the sink.

Undress completely. Put the blindfold on.

Do not lock the door.

If you disobey, I will leave.

Her throat tightened. The words hit something deeper than nerves. A flicker of shame. A flood of heat. She glanced up, but Camilla was already looking away, fussing with hangers, pretending not to notice the way Linda stood there with the key clutched in her hand, her skin prickling, her breath catching in her chest. She didn't speak. She just turned and walked toward the hallway marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. The key slid into the lock with a soft click. The bathroom was small, quiet, clean. A sink. A mirror. A hook on the back of the door. A small folded blindfold sitting neatly on the porcelain edge of the sink, black and thick, with soft ties that hung like a threat.

Linda closed the door behind her. But didn't lock it. Her hands moved slowly, fingers trembling as she unbuttoned her blouse. The fabric slid from her shoulders, catching slightly on her nipples. She let it fall to the floor. Her jeans were next, stiff and clinging, peeling down over her hips and thighs until she stepped out of them. Her thong followed. Her skin flushed pink, her breasts heavy, her nipples stiff and exposed. She was completely naked. Alone. Waiting. Her pussy already glistening with anticipation.

She picked up the blindfold and it smelled faintly like something sweet. Like someone had worn it before. She brought it to her face and she tied it very tight then she stood there, nude, blind, trembling. And didn't touch the lock. She stood still, completely nude, her bare feet pressed against the cool tile floor, the blindfold wrapped tight around her eyes, dark and suffocating.

The air in the tiny bathroom was thick with the smell of her skin, her fear, the faintest musk of arousal clinging between her thighs. Her arms hung useless at her sides. Her nipples ached in the open air, pulled tight by shame and exposure, her breasts heavy and swaying with each shallow breath. Her stomach quivered, soft and real, her pussy damp, open, needy in a way she didn't want to admit even to herself.

Time stretched. A minute. Maybe three. She couldn't tell. She could only hear the faint hum of the boutique's music behind the door, and the distant shuffle of footsteps in the hallway. Then voices. Two women, maybe more, laughing, too close. She heard a door creak. Someone said something about a fitting room. They were right outside.

Linda's breath caught. Her knees almost buckled. She reached out for the sink to steady herself, one hand gripping cold porcelain, the other pressed against her belly as if she could hold everything inside. She was suddenly burning. Ashamed. The tips of her ears were hot. Her thighs slick. What the fuck am I doing. She could walk out. She could grab her clothes off the floor and run before anyone saw her. She could pretend none of this happened.

But then she remembered Tina's voice. That look. That heat. That feeling of being seen. Not as a wife, not as a mother, not as a body past its prime, but as something else. Something owned so she stayed. The seconds passed. Her legs began to ache from holding so still. Her pussy throbbed, empty and desperate. She pressed her knees together and clenched her hands into fists.

And then she heard it. The click and then the door opening. A breath of hallway air touched her skin. She froze. Every muscle tensed. Her breath held tight in her chest. She could hear someone step in. Slow. Quiet. The door shut again.

The lock turned.

Linda swallowed.

"Hello?" she said, voice trembling.

Silence.

One second.

Two.

Three.

The air shifted. A presence. No words and her nipples tightened even more. And no one answered. The silence pressed into her skin like a hand, thick and hot, until the voice finally came.

"Good girl."

It was Tina. Smooth, low, rich with that cold confidence Linda had felt from the very first moment. Linda's breath caught. Her whole body pulsed.

"On your knees... now"

Linda sank slowly, her thighs trembling as they parted, her bare knees touching the cold tile. Her breasts hung heavy, swaying with the movement, nipples drawn tight, her stomach soft and trembling. The blindfold kept her in the dark, but she felt it, Tina's presence. Closer now. A breath. The scent of her perfume curling into the air like smoke. Then fingers in her hair. Hard. A sudden fist at her scalp, yanking her head up. Her breath hitched. Her lips parted. And the slap came. Sharp. Not brutal. But enough. Enough to sting, to shame, to make Linda moan before she could stop herself.

Tina didn't say anything at first. She slid two fingers between Linda's lips, slow and deep. Linda gagged slightly, but opened wider, letting them in, letting her tongue curl around them. "Lick," Tina said quietly. Linda obeyed. Her lips wrapped around them, tongue sliding over each knuckle, warm and wet. Tina pulled them out and wiped the spit down Linda's cheek, smearing it across her jaw.

"Now," Tina murmured, voice dark with approval. "You've earned it."

Tina paused for few seconds.

"You may lick my pussy."

Linda's heart nearly stopped. Her knees spread wider. Her mouth opened and she waited, trembling. Linda's tongue hesitated just above the soft gleam of Tina's inner thigh, the scent of her heat already curling into her senses, thick and devastating. She'd obeyed. Of course she had. There was no part of her left that could resist when Tina's voice turned low and cruel like that, when it stopped being a suggestion and became a sentence. "Go on," Tina murmured, one hand still curled in Linda's hair, the other slowly dragging her soaked panties down to her knees.

"You were so eager to be my little housewife whore. Don't stop now."

Linda leaned in, her breath trembling against the younger woman's skin. Tina was bare now, no barrier between them, her cunt shaved clean and flushed, lips slick and glistening from her own arousal. The scent was dizzying, young, powerful, and unapologetically raw. It hit Linda like a slap and a blessing at once. "You smell it, don't you?" Tina whispered. "That's what a real cunt smells like." Linda moaned softly, shameful, involuntary. Her mouth hovered just above that perfect heat, her lips parting in reverence and panic. "I said lick."

Linda obeyed and her tongue brushed the outer lips first, it was tentative, soft, reverent. The taste hit her instantly: salt and skin and the sharp tang of Tina's arousal, slick and overpowering. She moaned again, barely breathing as she flattened her tongue and dragged it up the center, trembling as she tasted Tina's full heat on her mouth for the first time. Tina hissed, her thighs twitching.

"That's it, old slut. You wanted young pussy? You begged for it. Now work for it."

Linda's hands gripped Tina's thighs instinctively as she buried her face deeper. Her tongue moved with growing desperation, lapping slowly between the folds, circling the clit but never touching, too afraid. Too worshipful.

Tina snarled, grabbing Linda's hair and jerking her face tighter against her cunt. "You think I gave you permission to tease me?" she spat. "Get your tongue on my clit and stay there until I say stop." Linda whimpered, already breathless and obeyed. She wrapped her mouth around the swollen nub, sucking gently, tongue flicking in soft, frantic strokes. Tina groaned, hips rolling forward, grinding against her face now, taking control of the rhythm. "That's it. You're just a tongue now. Just a fat, desperate housewife tongue licking her mistress's pussy."

Linda moaned into her, the humiliation blooming into arousal so thick it made her legs shake. Her thighs were soaked, her panties ruined, and her cheeks burned red as Tina used her mouth like she was nothing but a wet tool for her pleasure. Tina looked down at her and at the sagging tits and the flushed, middle-aged face smeared with pussy juice and shame. She smiled.

"God, look at you," she murmured. "You're dripping. All from licking a girl half your age. You're pathetic."

Linda moaned louder, her lips locked to Tina's cunt, tongue worshipping with trembling devotion.

"Keep licking, slut," Tina growled. "I'm not even close to done with you."

And Linda, ruined and obedient. She licked harder now because she needed it. Because this was what she was now. Linda's tongue worked in frantic circles now, messy and loud, her lips swollen and slick with Tina's arousal. She couldn't control the way her nose pressed into the soft skin above Tina's cunt, or how the wet sounds filled the air, sloppy and obscene. Her breath came in stuttering gasps through her nose, catching on the scent of sweat and pussy and her own shame. Her chin was soaked, her mouth glistening with the wet slick she kept trying to lap up but never could. Tina's slick coated her lips, her jaw, smeared across her face in a film of submission and need. Her mouth moved faster now, tongue darting, curling, flicking against Tina's clit as her jaw began to ache and her thighs trembled with need she wasn't allowed to touch.

Tina looked down at the mess between her legs and smiled darkly, curling her fingers tighter into Linda's hair. "Sloppier," she hissed. "Don't try to be elegant, you pathetic thing. You're not my equal. You're a tongue and a face and a hole. That's all." Then, with no warning, Tina tugged Linda's head back sharply by the roots of her hair, pulling her face away from her cunt just enough to see the smeared mess she'd made of herself. Linda's lips were glossy, cheeks flushed, eyes dazed and wet, her mouth still parted like she didn't understand why she'd been pulled away from worship.

Tina leaned down and slapped her across the face. Not hard. Just enough to make Linda gasp. Just enough to make her eyes flutter and her breath catch. "Slut," Tina said, voice low and cold. "Look at you. Fucking desperate. Slurping like a dog. That's what you are, isn't it? Just a filthy, wrinkled housewife with a ruined pussy and no pride. Licking my cunt like it's the only thing that's made you feel alive in years."

Linda whimpered. Her mouth opened but no words came. Her tongue darted out instinctively, searching for more. Tina slapped her again and it was little firmer this time. The sound cracked against Linda's wet cheek and echoed in the small space. "You don't speak," Tina said. "You lick. You beg with your mouth. You show me what it means to be used. Because that's all you are now, aren't you?" Linda nodded, trembling, lips trembling and wet. She tried to lean back in, but Tina held her still, watching her squirm.

"Say it," she demanded. "Say what you are."

"I'm your slut," Linda whispered, voice hoarse, lips still slick with Tina's taste. "Your filthy, old, messy little slut." Tina smiled then, wide and wicked, and shoved Linda's face back between her legs. "Good. Now lick it like you mean it, you dripping cunt-licking bitch." She ground her hips forward as Linda moaned against her, tongue plunging back into Tina's folds, messier than before, noisier, completely lost to the rhythm of degradation. Her face smeared, her sounds incoherent, her body shaking with how badly she needed to be used. Her only focus now was the heat of Tina's cunt and the brutal, beautiful way she was being reminded what she was.

Tina's breath came fast and shallow, her thighs twitching around Linda's flushed face as she leaned back against the vanity, one hand tangled tight in Linda's hair, the other sliding lower to where her cunt pulsed wet and aching. Her fingers found her clit easily, already swollen and slippery from Linda's messy, desperate licking. She rubbed in sharp, tight circles, hips jerking forward with each pass. "Don't stop," she hissed. "Keep licking me.."

Linda moaned against her, still on her knees, still buried between Tina's legs, mouth glossy with Tina's slick. Her tongue moved frantically, lips smeared and drooling, saliva running down her chin as she lapped at Tina's folds with open, messy strokes. It was obscene now, wet and loud, a whimpering mouth working beneath the tight grip of Tina's fingers. Every breath she took was soaked in Tina's scent.

Tina's orgasm rose fast, a coil tightening in her stomach, clenching around her knuckles as her fingers rubbed harder. "Fuck. Fuck, you little cum-lapping housewife, I'm gonna come all over that pathetic tongue." Her body arched. She cried out as it hit, hips bucking against Linda's face, cunt throbbing hard as she rubbed through it, drawing out the climax until her thighs were shaking and her moans had turned into ragged gasps.

She let go of Linda's hair. Linda collapsed forward, panting, cheeks flushed, lips red and glistening with spit and Tina's cum. She stayed like that for a moment, trembling on her hands and knees on the cold floor, her naked body flushed and wet, face buried in the space between her arms. Then she shifted, slow, desperate and spreading her knees, arching her back. Her ass rose high in the air, soft and round and open. Her pussy hung swollen and soaked between her thighs, lips flushed dark and glistening, glistening wet with the need Tina hadn't touched. Her inner thighs were streaked with arousal. Her breasts hung heavy beneath her, swinging with each shaky breath.

"Please," she whispered, voice cracked and raw. "Tina... please touch me. My pussy's aching. I need your fingers. Just something. Please." Tina didn't move. She just stared, calm now, cruel. Her eyes trailed down Linda's trembling body. The flushed cheeks, the messy face, the quivering thighs, the cunt leaking onto the floor. She watched Linda's hips twitch, desperate and exposed.

"Look at you," Tina said coldly. "Begging with your ass in the air like a bitch." Linda moaned softly, rocking back, pushing her pussy higher, need pulsing through every inch of her body. "I'll do anything. Just touch me. Please. I want to come for you." Tina crouched beside her, voice a low threat in her ear. "You think this is about what you want?"

Linda whimpered. "You don't come," Tina said. "Not yet. Not until I say. You haven't earned that. Right now, you're just a tongue. A wet hole with a hungry mouth. You give me pleasure. That's all." Linda cried out, softly, her breath catching as she dropped her head, body still arched, thighs spread, cunt untouched and leaking down her leg. Her hands clenched the floor, helpless. She could still taste Tina on her lips, and the ache between her legs throbbed like a wound. Tina stood again, silent, her slick cunt still twitching from the orgasm Linda had given her. And Linda stayed exactly where she was naked, dripping, on her knees, with her ass high and her pussy begging and shaking from the humiliation. She felt the unbearable ache of being denied.

Tina stood over her, pulling on her jeans without hurry, slipping them up those strong, young legs with casual grace, hips swaying slightly as she buttoned the waistband and smoothed the fabric over her still-damp cunt. Her shirt came next, tight cotton hugging her body as she stepped into it, dragging it down slowly, no rush, no shame. Linda stayed on her knees, still panting quietly, still slick and trembling, her flushed skin glowing under the soft yellow light. Her cunt throbbed, untouched, her thighs glossy with arousal. Her face was flushed, lips parted, hair a mess, and Tina didn't so much as look at her as she adjusted her bra through the thin shirt.

Finally, Tina spoke, voice flat, like she was giving instructions to an obedient pet. "Stay in here for five minutes. Don't leave until I'm gone. You don't get to walk out beside me like we're equals." She stepped toward the mirror, checking her reflection, fingers brushing her ponytail into place. "Fix yourself. You look like you've been used. Because you have." She grabbed her phone from the edge of the sink, didn't look back. The door opened and then it closed. Linda sat there for a long moment, cheeks still burning. She could still feel the sting of Tina's slap, the ache of being denied. Her pussy was leaking down her thighs, her nipples hard and aching, her breath shallow. She slowly stood, her knees weak, her legs sticky and sore, and started to gather her clothes. Every movement felt like confession. Her blouse clung to her still-sweating skin. She didn't look in the mirror.

Later that evening, the light outside had gone gray, and Linda sat curled on the edge of the couch, legs folded underneath her, robe loose over her chest. The house was quiet. Mark had gone to pick up the boys. The dishwasher was humming faintly in the background. She kept thinking about Tina's voice, the press of her cunt on her mouth, the sting of her words, how wet she'd been when she begged. Her thighs pressed together again. Still swollen. Still aching. She hadn't touched herself. She hadn't dared.

Her phone buzzed and she jumped. It was a photo and it was from Tina and Linda's breath caught the moment it loaded. The image was very simple. A bed, soft beige sheets and laid across the middle of the bed, bold and undeniable, was a massive black strapon. Thick. Long. Heavy-looking. The kind of toy that wasn't meant to tease. The harness still buckled, clean and waiting. The cock itself gleamed faintly. The angle was deliberate. It looked threatening.

Beneath the photo was a message. You'll have to earn the right to be used with this. Linda stared hard at the photo and her pussy clenched so hard it almost hurt. Her breath came short. Her nipples stiffened against the inside of her robe. She swallowed, the shame blooming bright in her chest, followed immediately by a heat so sharp she had to close her eyes. Her thighs shifted, spreading slightly. She didn't touch herself. She only looked at the photo again.

She'd never done anything like this. Not with a woman. Not with anyone. But Tina had awakened something she hadn't known could exist. She didn't just want to be touched again. She wanted to kneel. She wanted to be called pathetic. She wanted that cock. Inside her. Owned. She stared at the screen, lips trembling.

God, she wanted to earn it....