The Neighborly Domme

Title: The Neighborly Domme

Author: Zeedrot

Published: 2026

Violet Abernathy sat scrolling through the morning news on her tablet. A cup of black coffee, the only way to have such things, half drained. She lightly tapped the stone countertop of her kitchen island, frustrated at the state of things. The pearl-clutchers were at it again. Which in of itself was vexing, but this time it was a bit more personal. After all, when your livelihood relies on tying people up and doing sometimes quite questionable things to said people, new pushes to litigate the bedroom were a hair bit more disconcerting.

She sighed aloud to the empty room, her voice reverberating off sleek modern cabinets and tiled floors. She set down the device displaying such exasperating words, only to happily pick up another tablet. This one didn't have articles proclaiming society was falling due to moral turpitude. The pixels instead bore a black and white video feed of a cramped space and two entangled forms of flesh, latex, and leather writhing just where she had left them.

Violet checked the time, raising a satisfied eyebrow. The two willing and adorable captives had been in their current state for quite some time. She swiped between different cameras to see her handiwork from various angles. She had done a fine job. It was almost as if she did this sort of work for a living. Oh wait, she smirked to herself. Still, it was a fairly severe position to place the two women in. They were crushed into a single mass in what was more or less a 69 position with latex clad heads buried deep in each other's crotches. Crotches perfectly sealed off by chastity belts to prevent any danger of an unauthorized climax. And even so, the hoods, the ball gags, the restrictive leather belts, and the rope she'd used wouldn't have afforded them much chance if the belts were gone anyways.

The professional dominatrix, known to her clients at Goddess Anathema, stood and stretched carelessly like an apathetic feline. In truth, she was anything but. The two women curled and contorted under the floor of her home were no mere boring clients looking to live out trivial submission fantasies. They were her close friends and neighbors. Their names were Dillon and Isobel Wren and were a few years younger than herself. They'd moved in only four years ago, but she was so thankful they had. At first, they had seemed like another young couple, but Violet had hit it off quickly with the pair at a neighborhood barbeque. Which was a miracle because, with most of her neighbors talking behind her back, Violet rarely attended such gatherings. It had just been a whim really, but one that had brought passion and vibrance back into her life. It started as a simple, ordinary friendship, whether that be debating international politics with Isobel or hitting the gym with Dillon.

The latter of those activities being how their friendship morphed into this strange, kinky, but wonderful, undefined relationship they had now. Violet had one day accidentally forgotten to clear some fetish gear from her gym bag before meeting Dillon. The dominatrix had been mortified. She'd done her best to separate her personal life and professional work by moving her services out of her home to a studio as soon as financially possible, and she hadn't wanted to scare away her new friends and neighbors. The bubbly Dillon had made some lighthearted jokes about the discovery of a flogger and a few leather cuffs. For some odd reason, Violet, terrified, had let slip her profession as if that was less embarrassing than being a kinky weirdo bringing some bondage gear to the gym on accident. To her surprise Dillon had been fascinated, practically bouncing as she asked question after question about the work. Her infectious attitude pushing Violet to confess anything asked. It had felt a relief in the moment to share this side of her life with a friend and not be judged.

Remembering the strange interaction, Violet grabbed the tablet to watch her two confined neighbors with a giddy feeling she always had when they were around, especially when they played. A lot of that probably had to do with Dillon's lively nature and Isobel's quiet focus. The dominatrix began walking to the back room where the neighbors were being kept. She made a clear effort to bring her high-heeled boots down with as much force as possible with each step. She wasn't sure at what point the pair would hear her approach, but she wanted them to know she was coming as soon as possible to build anticipation.

As she walked, she reminisced some more about those early days. After the discovery, things had remained calm, the only difference coming as an occasional question from an excitable Dillon. The stoic Isobel, for her part, showed no changes, as if she hadn't learned the truth. Violet's appreciation for the couple grew at not being ostracized for her chosen work. Then they had invited her over about a month after the confession. For one of the few times in her life, Violet had been so nervous she was sick to her stomach, thinking there might be some sort of shoe to fall, that once they had digested the reality of Violet's profession, they would sever ties.

So, when they sat down together, the couple's body language just as tense as hers, she'd felt validated in her fear. The first jumbled words out of Dillon had come as an utter shock, though. The pair had wanted Violet to dominate them both as a couple. She'd thought she had misheard. Isobel's calm explanation had put that to rest. She'd explained that Dillon had always wanted to play kinky games, but that she had never quite gotten the hang of being a Domme. It took a few tense moments for Violet to formulate a response, but when she did, she had emphatically agreed to the other women's request. It was simply the neighborly thing to do. In retrospect, Violet recognized how terribly it could have gone, but by a miracle it hadn't. During their first session, the trio found their dynamic was passionate and fun, drawing out Violet's creative side.

In truth, their play had come at an auspicious time. The dominatrix had started to burn out and question her career. Playing with the inexperienced, but devoted, couple had reinvigorated Violet's love for what she did. It brought out the best of her. What was more, since it was with friends she trusted, and there was no exchange of money, Violet could drop her carefully crafted persona as Goddess Anathema, and just be herself, Mistress Violet, to the cute couple of lovebirds.

Her heart thumped with each step as she drew closer to the imprisoned spouses who had rekindled her life's passion. She smiled as the black and white figures on the tablet began squirming with vigor once more. They could finally hear her approach. For a fleeting moment, she cheekily considered turning down the hall to the bathroom to disappoint them and keep them anticipating her return a bit longer, but she didn't have the heart. Or if she were honest, she absolutely couldn't resist playing directly with them.

She entered the room that once had been her at home work dungeon. It hadn't seen a client in years. Adrenaline pulsing in her veins, she strode past the various toys and restraints the room held; to liberate the only two people allowed into this sanctum anymore. Along the way she discarded the tablet on a padded bench. Violet rolled away the stylish rug covering a wooden hatch. She crouched, producing the necessary key from a ring that would have made a jailor jealous. With a heavy thunk, the wooden cover unlocked, and she lifted it, revealing a colorized version of her morning's entertainment. Beneath a harsh, and absolutely unnecessary steel grate, Isobel and Dillon struggled as much as their bonds allowed, which to the dominatrix's delight was delectably very little. They mewled and made garbled attempts to greet the return of their Mistress. The words barely discernable as they, in near unison, called out, "Hangh ough, Mfphtresh Vioghlegh fogh ougher preshensh."

She waited to unlock the grate, instead letting her hand touch one and then the other woman's bare flesh. They were such a beautiful sight. Isobel wore a classic black latex hood and matching gag that turned her head into an inky, dehumanizing mass. Her blonde hair tightly braided and pulled through a reinforced tube at the top of her head. She seemed ever the calmer member of the duo. Violet scratched a nail across Dillon's toned shoulder, causing an outburst of pathetic whimpers and a shiver from the more excitable wife. Her hood a bright red latex. None of her short cropped brunette hair visible. It made her seem even less human than her partner.

"Well, slaves, I hope you are well rested." She patted the two through the bars as if comforting a pair of tired dogs. An image of the two women as said animals briefly shot through Violet's mind. The excitable Dillon a labrador retriever, of course, while the more aloof Isobel as an Afghan hound. Violet choked back a small snicker at her frequent mental image of the pair. I wonder if they would be offended? She thought before continuing. "I know you two poor dears haven't had the pleasure of an orgasm in, what? Two months?" She paused as the two women both wailed and rocked their hips across the other's latex enclosed face in reaction. "Well, today that changes." Happy grunts from both women this time.

She let them have the moment before taking away their joy an instant later. It was just too much fun not to. "I should correct myself. Today, that changes for one of you." The couple let out a distraught moan in frustration and disappointment at the obvious implication. This time Violet gave her best cartoon villain impersonation as she cackled in glee at their distress. She knew they were both the most unhappy and the happiest they could ever be. They understood the confusing duality of such play.

Still sounding like she should be airing on a Saturday morning program, she continued, "That's right, only one of you will earn the right to climax today. And I have a few little contests to determine which of my pathetic pets earns that reward, because truthfully, both of you are unworthy of such a gift. I spoil you two, don't I?" The two women's heads nodded between their partner's legs as muffled agreements came from both.

Violet unlocked the grate and began releasing the web of restraints on the women. "And I would recommend that you both try your hardest. I'm booked for the next three weeks with sessions for my actual paying clients. So it'll be a long while before we can play again, and where you might have another chance at an orgasm." Another wave of dread and whimpers billowed from the pair. Oh, this was going to be so much fun, the dominatrix thought. Thank you both for coming into my life.

...

Dillon grunted into the ball gag that had been lodged there for who knew how long. Strands of spittle escaping between her lips and the silicone in stringy distressed lines. Her eyes were fixated on her dearest Isobel. Those familiar pools of liquid emerald focused and conveying what her wife's equally gagged mouth couldn't, determination undercut by love. They narrowed a moment and a sharp tug pulled agonizingly at Dillon's clit. She shrieked into the gag. Her partner easing off the attempt. Once she had recovered, the short-haired woman grinned mischievously before bouncing her ample chest suggestively. The motion tearing another pained cry from both of them as their nipples screamed in anguish.

The first game of the day, commanded by their shared dominatrix, Mistress Violet, was a tug of war. Their devilish and beloved dominant had clamped their intimate areas after tantalizingly removing their chastity belts for the game and their hoods as well. Their nipples, pussy lips, and even somehow their clits (thanks to that awful pump, Violet, correct that Mistress Violet loved so much) were crushed beneath uncaring plastic. Then each woman's clamps were connected to their partner's via string. The objective was to be the one with the most clamps still attached by the end. Armbinders meant they could only tug by pulling their whole body in opposite directions.

So far, only one clamp had come loose, one of the two attached to their labia. A first painful jerk had left Isobel with Dillon's right labia clamp dangling at the end of the string attached to her own left labia. This, of course, meant Dillon's wonderful wife was winning. The playful competitor in Dillon was ready to find a way to even the score.

This left Dillon conflicted, though. She was so horny. Stupidly so after 62 days without an orgasm, and yes, she somehow knew the exact number of days. Don't judge me, she thought to an imaginary audience. You would count those days too, if every little movement, every step, every time you sat down, you felt the accursed thing, a chastity belt, rub against your intimate areas that had been denied relief for so long. Weren't chastity belts meant to help with celibacy? To Dillon, they only seemed to serve to heighten one's need for sexual release.

Those weeks of denial, they made her want to win, to claim that elusive prize, but she also knew that meant denying her beloved spouse the same. Isobel was the steady rock she relied on in life to get through the worst of times and the mundane daily drudgery of life. It was a right pickle, and just as sour in her mouth. Mistress Violet knew what she was doing. As always. A titillating predicament that made the need between Dillon's legs warm further.

She gave another tentative shake of her chest. Both women winced. They had been in this predicament for nearly 15 minutes and only had 5 left before the contest would be called. Dillon knew she had the higher pain tolerance; she was far more of a masochist than Isobel. She knew she could power through the pain, embrace it even, but could her blonde better half manage it? And there was really no way to know whose clamps would give even if Dillon used her athletic body to rend them free. It was a painful gamble with no guarantees.

Absentmindedly, Dillon rubbed her thighs together in arousal at the dilemma, causing pressure to the clamps still attached down that way. Dillon screamed at her stupid aroused action, the pain lancing through her. Her legs separating as she did a small dance of agony to handle the hurt she had inflicted upon herself accidentally. Why did I ever listen to Isobel about wearing chastity belts and letting Mistress keep the keys?

She knew exactly why. Isobel had asked her with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever, and it had sounded so fucking hot. Truthfully, it had been. It'd taken them months to get to the point that they could both wear their custom fitted belts, a gift from their generous Mistress, essentially all the time without issues or discomfort, though, they were always very aware of the damn things presence and what they meant. The belts were a constant reminder of how their pleasure was no longer their own, but Mistress Violet's. Three times a week, the belts came off for a couple of hours for hygiene and maintenance reasons.

This was, of course, under the strict supervision, read bondage, of their Mistress. It had been worth it, though. Being denied access to climax on their own made both her and Isobel so fucking horny all the time. Despite not being able to get a release, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, which only worsened their need. And with the belts constantly making their presence known everywhere from work to trips to the gym, neither could forget for long what they were being denied, only making ever hornier. It was a vicious cycle they both loved. And the length of denial had grown over time. The first stretch had only been a week, but this one was two months, which made Dillon so fucking desperate. And only one of them would get relief. That was a new, devious twist her mind kept circling back to.

A sharp tug came at Dillon's chest, taking her out of her reverie. Green eyes locked with hers once more. A slight nod came from Dillon's calculating wife. She gave a small shrug in return, a somatic signal of "are you sure?" Another more confident nod, this time from her partner. They both started taking synched inhales and exhales. After the third set, Dillon bit down on her gag and pulled back with as much force as she could manage. A painful tension flared across her body at the afflicted points. Then, in such rapid succession that she couldn't fully follow, that tension vanished. Dillon floated in anguished anticipation. Then the expected wave of white-hot pain blotted her mind. Howling filled the playroom.

When Dillon could get her mind to center finally from the exquisite pain, she found herself on her knees panting profusely. Her body shimmering with stressed sweat. Her mind and physical form felt detached, separated by the onslaught. Dillon took quick stock to understand how that final painful effort by the two ended. Her left nipple was bare. Another point for her Isobel. The right stubbornly remained in place, a point for herself. Looking further south, both the other labia clamp and the one on her disastrously sensitive clit were there. Lady luck had shined on her. She'd won this first round.

Instant guilt struck her, though. She loved the recent pain. Meanwhile, poor Isobel tended to be less enthusiastic about it and she'd just lost on top of that. A double blow for her. Dillon looked across the room to where her spouse, and fellow slave, lay curled up from the exchange. Her blonde head cradled by an attentive and consoling Mistress Violet. Dillon and Isobel adored her for that. She could be harsh, unfair even at times, but also doting as well. She changed the instant the moment demanded it.

The dominatrix's words drifting as soft whispers mingled with pained sobs from Isobel in the otherwise quiet room. The Domme held Isobel close to her chest as she patted her back. "There, there... you're okay. It's done dear. You did so well. You made your Mistress so very proud. It's okay, you are okay." It was a sweet sight that left Dillon feeling even more selfish. Mistress Violet must have known. She raised one hand and sympathetically beckoned Dillon to join. She plodded forward on her knees, the still attached clamps dragging behind, tugging just enough to remind the woman of her pyrrhic victory. When she reached the others, she nuzzled her gagged face against Isobel's back.

Crushed comfortingly between their Mistress and Dillon, the third member of the game quieted and recovered. Once Mistress Violet was satisfied that they were all okay and wanted to proceed. She stood and declared Dillon the victor of round one. She didn't feel like a winner. Not after seeing how hard this round had been for her spouse. Yet, she also couldn't deny a selfish corner recognized she was one step closer to an orgasm and was happy to have won.

After the armbinders were removed and the remaining clamps released, each a small hot lance of agony, particularly that clit one, Mistress supervised a water and bathroom break. Then the dominant woman announced the next round would be a demonstration of their ability to follow orders and remember their etiquette. Dillon felt a mix of apprehension and relief. Apprehension because she tended to get distracted easily. Relief because she knew her partner would likely draw even on this task and would love doing it. While Dillon had a proclivity for pain and humiliation, her Isobel loved being controlled, the submission and dominance aspect of their play with Mistress Violet being her favorite.

The round started with simple commands. Mistress Violet would bark out a number, a shorthand for submissive positions she'd drilled into them over the past several years. The first position given was three. Both unfettered women, though, still gagged as the streams of saliva down their chests attested to, placed their hands at the back of their necks and spread their legs wide. They'd both reached the position in nearly perfect unison. Mistress Violet circled them, but Dillon managed to obediently keep her eyes fixed straight ahead as their training had instilled. Well, at least until the sharp clack of heeled boots rounded behind them, specifically behind Isobel. Then she couldn't ignore that little urge to steal a side glance of her partner in such a position. A flash of a much smaller chest glittering with silver piercings all she managed to see, but it was worth it as a new pulse of arousal shot through Dillon's nerves. They'd been married five years, and still nothing in the world was as beautiful as her wife. Her eyes turned back forward to avoid discipline.

A sharp crack came. Leather glove on a small pale rump. Dillon didn't need to see it. From a million memories, she knew it well, the sight of Mistress Violet spanking her spouse. A second loud smack reverberated, though be it some miracle, Isobel didn't make a noise. The always good, disciplined submissive she was.

"Dillon, did you think I didn't see you steal that little look? Such a disobedient creature. And now I had to punish Isobel for the infraction." Dillon snorted at herself. She hadn't been sly enough, but instead of getting the spanking herself, her more dutiful co-slave was paying for her mistake. Fuck, does Mistress Violet know how to screw with us or what? she asked herself. Before Dillon could fully reconcile the situation, the Domme ordered, "Position one!"

Both women scrambled to assume the submissive pose. This one forced them down with foreheads touching the ground, arms stretched in front with palms to the floor. Their asses in air, exposing their most intimate parts. Dillon in her rush didn't see it, but she knew Isobel had been graceful in assuming the position. Far more than her, certainly. That was just how it was. The clack of boots moved to behind Dillon and lingered there. The woman twitched nervously. Had she forgotten something? Was her position incorrect? Had she perhaps heard the wrong number? That would be on brand. Ditzy Dillon somehow not getting the simple number correct.

She had to wait nearly ten seconds in silent surrender before her answer came. Three gloved fingers plunged into her vagina and a thumb up her bum. The long denied and torturously horny Dillon sucked in a shocked breath past her gag. Her sex was on a hairpin trigger and the sudden intrusion had her near the peak already. Then the digits pressed in and pulled up. "Get this ass higher!" Mistress Violet commanded. The words and motion compelling Dillon's butt higher to what must be the position she was supposed to take. The stimulation was threatening to tip her over. Her fingers curled in. How the hell can I be so fucking horny? she worried.

Mistress's words came sultry and arrogant. "Careful slave, we don't want someone doing something without permission, do we? You know the consequences if you do..." She let her voice trail off, leaving those consequences to hang ominously in the air. Sweat formed at the corners of Dillon's temples. She knew all too well what the punishment would be for an unauthorized orgasm. A vivid image of Mistress Violet in a deep burgundy latex catsuit returned to her mind from the day they had started the chastity game months ago. Her words perfectly remembered even in Dillon's mind that all too often forgot what she had for breakfast. "If you reach a release without my express permission, these belts will remain in place for both of you for a full year from the date of such a failure, even if it was just one of you." The insinuation that they would be denied for a full year. It was frighteningly unhinged. Some part of Dillon suspected it wouldn't actually be a year of no orgasms, but it said something that the mere fantasy of such a penalty could shake her to her core.

Terrifyingly, the fingers started wiggling inside Dillon. Under other circumstances, it would feel delightful, but now, with the threat looming, they were a dreadful touch. Mercifully, Mistress Violet's probing paused. Dillon felt immense gratitude for the small grace, but it was undercut by her dissatisfied body. Then, without removing her fingers, the dominatrix ordered them to assume position 5. The shorter haired slave paused, assuming she'd be released from the clutches of those leather covered fingers. It was a mistake. The fingers clamped harder against her insides as they were pulled upward. "Up cunt! Trying to be lazy?"

Dillon grunted and scrambled upwards, chasing the leading intruders. As she arose, she apologized through the gag. "Sohweh, Mfphtresh Vioghlegh." Soon she was standing on tiptoes, legs together, hands once more behind her head, eyes straight ahead. She heard a tongue click in disapproval as the iron grip on her insides released and withdrew without warning or ceremony. Dillon shuddered both at failing to please her Mistress and at the fleeing manipulators. Their extraction nearly making her cum there on the spot.

Mistress Violet strutted between the two, assuming a position in front of them where both could see her at the edge of their vision. "Now slaves, your Mistress wants you to demonstrate your grace. When I order you to, I want you to walk straight forward on your toes, one foot perfectly in front of the other. A perfect tightrope. Eyes focused forward. No wobbling, no straying from the path, no heels touching the floor. You'll walk straight ahead until I say stop. Understand?"

"Yeph, Mfphtresh Vioghlegh." The two women shouted in spittle flying unison.

"Good, begin."

Dillon took a tentative step forward. She almost never wore heels, being very much the masc member of their couple. Her legs trembled and wobbled as she tried to place them one in front of the other, but she kept pace with Isobel somehow. She rethought that idea. She's probably keeping pace with me, Dillon admitted to herself. After all, while Mistress hadn't specified, it was a well-known fact between the trio that during moments like this Mistress expected perfect unison. A submissive symmetry.

The room wasn't particularly large, so soon they were nearing the far wall. Tension started building in Dillon's chest. There was less and less time left, and Mistress hadn't issued the command to halt. It had to be drawing near, and she suspected it would be delivered mid step to make it all the harder. She knew she already was likely losing this round, but she still wanted to make a good showing.

The wall was only three steps away. Any minute now. Two steps. When is it coming? One step. It had to be now, when else. No more steps to go. Only a few inches separated Dillon from the wall. Had Mistress forgotten? Certainly not, but what... Then she heard a soft impact of a body against a wall. Dillon's discipline evaporated, and she looked to see Isobel pressed against the wall. Her legs made another attempt at a step before Mistress gave new orders. "Halt! Turn around and assume position two."

A confused Dillon did as bid. Her mind trying to reconcile what was going on. Had they been expected to walk into the wall? Was Mistress Violet for once inattentive? Soon she and Isobel were sitting propped up on their knees and toes. Their legs spread wide, hands resting on their thighs, eyes to the floor.

Their gags were taken out. Dillon wanted to work her sore jaw, but knew she was supposed to close it immediately. So she did, despite the ache she wanted to relieve. As she sat there, she supposed the round was over. It was no question that it'd been Isobel's time to shine. Dillon wanted to win, but she was proud of her partner. She was so disciplined and focused.

"Eyes up." Both women looked up, though their posture otherwise didn't change. "Isobel, you were perfect." The words smooth with approval before her eyes turned to Dillon, her tone changing slightly, almost mocking, "And valiant effort Dillon, but why did you stop there at the end?"

Dillon stumbled a bit over her words. "I, um, this slave didn't think we were supposed to walk into the walk, Mistress Violet. Apologies Mistress." Dillon wanted to look down, embarrassed at her failure, but kept her eyes on the dominatrix.

"Ah, how presumptuous of you to think. You're my submissive, my slave." The imposing, leather clad woman leaned down, turning up Dillon's chin. "You listen; you obey. Round two goes to Isobel." Mistress Violet released her chin and stood towering over the pair.

Dillon was disappointed. It never occurred to her that the wall was a test until after her clever Isobel had proven it so. Isobel was so remarkably good at this. God, I love her.

...

Isobel sat once more on her knees, legs spread wide. Her arms tucked away in in a monoglove armbinder. To her left was her spouse in the exact same situation. They kneeled a couple feet in front of Mistress Violet's throne, an ornate high-back chair on a raised platform to one side of the playroom. She sat with an authoritative presence that made Isobel melt. She did her best not to show it, her face placid. Just as placid as when she'd walked straight into a wall a few minutes earlier. Fuck, to be run through orders and to so blindly follow them to walk straight into a fucking wall. It was humiliating, the depths of her submission to this dominatrix. To be as intelligent as she was, and to seek to be an unthinking object, or better toy of their Mistress. It made her so very wet. That was the only thing she couldn't hide, her dampness. Small barely noticeable glances from their Mistress, to Isobel's crotch, proving that she had noticed it though.

Over two months, 62 days, since she and Dillon had been permitted to so graciously climax. Their own bodies under the key and control of this woman lording over them now, making them wait in silence for their next set of commands. The next task. That was something Isobel had absolutely adored about their play. Shutting off her always chaotic and overthinking mind. In daily life, she constantly thought about everything, trying to calculate every variable possible before making a decision. It paralyzed her all too often. That was unlike her wife, who took action, sometimes too quickly admittedly, but still something she admired in Dillon. Something she tried to learn from her partner.

Yet, here under the guidance of a mistress, no this Mistress, Isobel could quiet her racing mind, and just follow orders. It was wonderful. Mistress Violet was wonderful. She could read them both and play to their interests effortlessly balancing all three women's desires. This competition was proof. The first task had been a calculated gamble built on Dillon's masochistic tendencies. The second a trap of mindless obedience for Isobel. So, the question was, what would the final task be? Depending on what it was, Mistress Violet would be showing her hand as to who she desired to win this little contest. Who she actually thought should get the orgasm. Would the final task favor humiliation and subservience, Isobel's strengths, or would it play towards Dillon's enthusiasm and masochistic leanings?

Finally, the architect of their adored agony sat up. "Time for your final task, my dear sweet slaves." As she spoke, she brought one booted leg up to rest on her opposing knee, her immaculately manicured hand, now sans glove, drawing a zipper down toward the heel seductively slow. Well, that settles it, thought Isobel, trying not to let her mind ramp up too much. Mistress pulled away the boot and set it aside next to the throne. She repeated with her other. Her black nail polished toes barely grazing the floor in her elegance and refined pose. "Your final task, the one that will determine which one of you will earn your pleasure, will be to show your devotion to me by worshipping my feet." Mistress Violet looked down with a looming authority, expectant of her supplicating devotees.

Isobel felt her mouth salivating instantly. She wasn't a feet freak, but she didn't mind kissing them or even licking them. Mistress's feet would be clean anyways. She was far more considerate of her submissives than that, and previous experiences with this particular form of submission had taught her that lesson. No, Isobel was excited by this contest because it was such a humiliating act of subservience. To worship the lowest part of her mistress, to place herself beneath the woman's pretty little feet. To kiss the part of this woman that touched the ground, implying they were not worthy of adoring any part of Mistress Violet beyond the most debased part of her. It was gorgeous, the degrading positioning of her and her wife beneath their Mistress's feet as they obediently lapped at them. She could nearly orgasm at the mere thought.

Isobel and her fellow slave wife scuttled forward on their knees until they reached the dais. Her leg brushed Dillon's as they worked their way into position. It was a welcome tactile reminder of how they were both embracing their submissive sides together. Mistress Violet was a brilliant dominant, but Isobel loved more than anything how she shared this experience with her wife. It helped build a unique camaraderie between her and Dillon.

Isobel reached down with quivering, excited lips. She angled to kiss the outside top of Mistress's left foot. An angle that she had chosen strategically to steal a glance at her short-haired real lifelong queen. Unsurprisingly, as Isobel lightly kissed their Mistress, her eyes witnessed Dillon chaotically worshipping. Already half of the Domme's toes were in her wife's mouth. Isobel nearly laughed. They had such different approaches, and it was oh so cute how enthusiastic Dillon could be with an utter disregard for technique. She often wanted to skip to the most intense thing possible inside and outside of the bedroom. She was the first woman Isobel had dated that almost always cut the foreplay short. A bizarre choice for a diehard lesbian she felt.

She continued to watch her wife slobber and gag trying to fit half of Violet's foot in her mouth, meanwhile she herself traced a slow, meandering trail of dainty kisses along the bridge of the foot she had, until she reached an ankle. Then she brought her head inside, nudging her nose and chin under Mistress Violet's arch, lifting the foot up so she could work at the bare bottoms of the woman's foot. Her face buried momentarily in her Mistress's wrinkled sole, Isobel noted she was right. Mistress had certainly cleaned her feet before starting the morning. Only the faintest scent of her sweat mingled with the overpowering and delightful aroma of leather from the boots.

In a fluid, graceful motion, Isobel shifted her body so she rested on her back, or truly on her bound arms, her face never leaving her Mistress's skin. She pressed her lips gently, reverently against the heel of the commanding woman. Each kiss placed with passion, but also with precision. She felt the contours of the skin shifting from the smoothness of the heel to the undulating creases of Mistress's wrinkled sole. When her kisses reached the end of the line, with those cutely pointed toes, Isobel shifted her head around, her lower lip still touching the woman's sole, while her upper lip caressed the top. She increased the pressure she was placing on the soft skin. A discernable moan came from above.

They'd worshipped these dainty little feet long enough for Isobel to know she was finding the right spots; areas she'd explored and recorded previously to maximize her Mistress's pleasure. Timing it right at the end of a particularly good kneading kiss, Isobel let her tongue slip out across a wrinkled portion of Violet's sole. The foot twitched in reaction, but Isobel held the errant appendage in place with her firm but respectful lips.

She rotated once more fully to the underside. Her kisses punctuated now with the occasional lick. The quality of her effort silently acknowledged by their Mistress as the foot pressed ever more downward, greedily seeking more of Isobel's talents. She spent several long seconds devoted entirely to Mistress's arch, her favorite and most responsive spot. Mistress's composure shattering into heady moans of pleasure that made Isobel smile at her own skills of devotion. Then she traced her tongue along the side until she once more found her way to the perfectly painted toes.

Instead of engorging herself on all of them at once, like she'd witnessed her overly eager wife do, Isobel showed absolute reverence to each digit. Her lips first placing a preliminary kiss as a form of greeting prior to sliding the first toe between her soft lips. She suckled on it gently, delicately, as a lady should. Then she rolled and caressed it with her talented tongue. The sounds escaping Mistress were growing more enthusiastic with each new effort Isobel made. The woman's foot scrunching and flexing in bliss at what Isobel was doing. The submissive languidly let the first toe slip away before moving to the next, repeating the process four more times. Each one treated as a treasure to grace her lips.

Clear thought evaporated as Isobel slipped into her sought submissive state. Unthinking, letting the subtle changes in how Violet moved her foot guide her lips. As time moved forward, Isobel venerated every inch of her assigned foot with deft, passionate kisses and the judicial use of her tongue, and never allowed her teeth to graze any part Mistress Violet. Then, when pressing hard into the dominatrix's instep once more, thinking snapped back in. This task was hers for the taking. Dillon was more enthusiastic but sloppy. This was a demonstration of understanding their Mistress and her desires. And in that regard, history dictated this was decidedly Isobel's to lose.

After all, only one of the two spouses had ever managed to make Mistress cum simply by feeding her foot fetish with devoted and targeted worship. Elation overtook Isobel. It meant this task had been chosen to ensure she would receive the lone reward. That Mistress had predetermined her to be the victor, the one more deserving of an orgasm. But then guilt wafted across her tongue as it slipped along the arch of Violet's foot once more. Like biting into bile, she wanted to recoil.

With the outcome certain, Isobel's mind considered an unwelcome conundrum. She wanted the orgasm, had the means to achieve it, but she also didn't want to be the cause of Dillon's denial. It was the crux of the dilemma today. Yet it wasn't a quandary at all. Not really. Isobel ceased her supplication with a final reverential kiss to the wonderfully high arch in front of her, and then she sat back on her own heels. Her green eyes tracing up to the blue ones of Mistress Violet. An initial look of confusion and disappointment faded quickly as the sharp Mistress discerned the gambit, or rather forfeiture, Isobel had just made. An understanding look emanating from the woman's eyes with a hint of pride.

Isobel looked to the side to watch Dillon at work. The other slave wife, her life partner and soulmate, had her eyes closed, lost in the frenetic worship she was rendering. Unlike the foot entrusted to her, the one Dillon frantically worked her lips and tongue across glistened, coated in energetically transferred saliva. Her technique, if it could be called it, seemed to consist of slurping, licking, and kissing with as much vigor as the masc lesbian could infuse her mouth with. It was impressive, but wasteful. She hadn't taken the time to understand the specific places most receptive to their mouths. Nonetheless, Isobel looked on with admiration for the passion it presented at least. Mistress seemed to enjoy the effort, but she no longer moaned, no longer threatened to climax herself.

Finally, after another impassioned minute, Mistress Violet withdrew both feet into the air. "Enough. You two have proven adequate, but one understood the assignment better than the other, but that one also capitulated." Dillon seemed perplexed temporarily until she turned to Isobel. "Babe, did you really?" Her face contorted by love and guilt. Isobel smiled fondly back.

"Silence. I didn't grant you permission to speak." Both women snapped their attention back to Mistress. "Dillon, you've won the right to an orgasm. So, why don't we get you both ready?"

"Pardon, Mistress." The authoritative woman nodded her acquiescence. "I would like to defer my right to slave Isobel."

"Granted." The word dropping like a gavel in a courtroom. Harsh and final.

Isobel panicked. No, she wanted her wife to find release. She could handle deprivation a while longer. She started to speak up, but a shake of the head and a manicured hand stopped her. "It seems poetic that since slave Dillon only received the reward because of a forfeiture that she would forfeit it as well." Mistress Violet stood without her boots, but she still stood tall over the kneeling women. Isobel didn't understand what had happened. She had calculated and considered the possibilities, but she never thought that Dillon would successfully transfer the earned climax back to her. This bred stressful turmoil within her. She didn't want or need that. For her, the solution was simple. It was time to let submissive Isobel take back over and try to enjoy the gift.

...

Rhythmic pumping was driving Isobel toward a wonderful precipice. Her guilt at getting the sole reward gone, banished by the command of their dominant Mistress. Now she simply mindlessly embraced the sensations across her body. The suffocating black latex hood clinging to her sweat drenched head. Only two small air holes at her nostrils granting her a whisp of life-giving air. The painful pull of her head towards the floor, drawn there by the strain on her scalp as her braided blonde hair was anchored by rope out in front of her on the floor. Her torso compressed by a leather straightjacket, also anchored to the floor and ceiling. Her cuffed ankles were shackled to the floor. A spreader bar and her forward folded position arching her buttocks high in the air and making her pussy fully accessible to her wife.

Isobel assumed Dillon was similarly bound. Mistress did like a certain degree of symmetry to their play, but it was clearly done in a way that allowed the use of the strap-on that kept sliding back and forth inside her. It felt amazing. Any stimulation would after two months. Isobel would have her orgasm shortly, no doubt. A more present Isobel might have found the situation somewhat amusing. It was the reversal of who typically used such toys on who. Most people when they met Dillon and Isobel assumed that the masc presenting Dillon was at least a top, or even a stone-cold top on rare occasions, until of course she opened her mouth and her bubbly, sweet personality leaked out and her pleasure-seeking enthusiasm became apparent. A break in expectations. In reality, Isobel was usually the one ramming Dillon. It was refreshing to be on this end for once, even if vaginal sex wasn't her preferred method. Dillon also had a surprising talent for it, holding a good steady pace, but switching it up enough to keep Isobel on her toes literally and figuratively.

Arousal mounted in the blonde. Then suddenly the rhythm paused for a few ephemeral heartbeats as the silicone stilled in her. Then suddenly, the motion renewed with vigor. The speed, a sprint really, kept somehow accelerating. Mistress must have been encouraging this effort. It had the desired effect, though. Soon, the familiar signs of an approaching orgasm were undeniable. Her heart and breathing bloomed erratically, unable to keep pace with her body's needs. Her sex tightened around the intruding toy. Her legs tensed as her torso tried to twist in the limited range it was afforded. Then the final wall fell as Dillon's thrusts turned to a frantic shudder suddenly, and bliss washed through Isobel. Every sexually coiled corner of her body erupted in unison. It felt like the very air around her skin was electric. Two months of frustration and teasing distilled into this one transient state of consciousness. Despite the intense restraints, she had never felt so untethered. A listless bliss.

...

God, these two get me going, Violet thought to herself. In front of her, a bent over and secured Isobel was getting absolutely ravished by an excitable Dillon. They both wore oppressive latex hoods, both wore matching leather straightjackets, and both were expertly secured in place. The strap-on she'd attached to Dillon along with that woman's incredible stamina was eliciting muffled cries of joy from the blonde member of the beautiful couple. The love conveyed within each thrust inspiring, as if each push amounted to a declaration of Dillon's adoration of her wife. Still, Violet could tell, sense really, that there was even more lying in wait under the surface.

She approached the couple, placing a hand on Dillon's shoulder. She leaned close to where the latex bulged near the woman's ear. She whispered with dulcet words, "You're doing so good, did so well today. I must be growing soft, but I would think it a shame if only Isobel had a release before those pesky but necessary belts are locked back on."

The pumping kept going somehow, but Dillon's red latex wreathed head nodded vigorously. She's so agreeable. I wonder why? Violet joked in her own mind. She stepped back, turning her gaze to the tablet in her offhand. She had a set of remote controls displayed. They were for a few special features on this particular strap-on set up. She could activate two sets of vibrators meant for the wearer's pleasure. One activated a small bulbous nodule wedged inside Dillon's cunt; the other was built into the harness resting above the woman's clit. She'd preset both to nearly 85 percent. Combined with the two months of denial, it would be a matter of seconds for them to do their work. She activated only the first of the vibrators, the internal one. Dillon's diligent efforts ceased uncharacteristically at the stimulation. With an audible roar, she renewed her thrusts with a speed that put the earlier display to shame. The huffing emanating from Isobel grew hysterical at the increased stimulation.

Mistress Violet watched her charges carefully. She could hardly breathe herself awaiting the moment Isobel crested past the point of no return, and at that moment she activated the vibrator near Dillon's clit as planned, though she had let her fingers clumsily slip across the intensity bar, setting both vibrators to max. An unavoidable accident, most assuredly.

As a bent Isobel shook and whined through an orgasm, Dillon's body shuddered, unable to keep thrusting as it too locked up in far too long anticipated and sought release. Magnificent, the only word Violet could find. She'd been setting the stage for two months, truthfully longer, for this sweet marital moment of shared mind-melting bliss. She'd never intended to deny them a minute longer. The threat of only one receiving ecstasy had been a hollow, cheap way to motivate them.

Beautifully, it had revealed once again how much they cared for each other, with one attempting to forfeit her victory and the other returning such charity upon learning of it. Both would have their reward. It was simply the neighborly thing to do for such sweet people, Violet jested mentally. The two women, the two spouses, before her had something special, and Violet was so utterly thankful to have them as a muse for her own perverse passion. A kinky, friendly trio of neighbors destined to explore a particular delicacy in life.

Once they rode out this primed orgasm, Violet would let them down, allow them to recover a bit, and then the chastity belts would return until she deemed them ready for another sweet release. Thank God I went to that cookout, she thought, muffled groans and the shifting of restraints providing the background music to her inner monologue.