Lizzie’s hotel room isn’t as swank as some of the Armstrong Suites digs Killer Buzz Float has stayed in, thanks to Shades’s dad being the chain’s owner, but it’s pretty close. I don’t have much time to invest in checking it out before Lizzie grabs my hands, shoves me to the closed door, and pins me to the heavy wood with her body. Her lips linger inches from mine.

I’m taller than she is, which is a little awkward since she’s playing Top in this situation, and I’m that other person. My stomach flutters at her closeness, her intensity.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I have been thinking about you since New Orleans.” Cinnamon rides her whisper to my nose, which flares for more. “Every. Single. Night.”

She tightens her grip on my splayed hands on either side of my hips. My fingers twitch as her magic punctures my skin, penetrating to my core. My loins tremble with need.

“I’ve waited for you, Jillian.” A leg curls around mine at the knee. “When you didn’t come, you forced me to find you.”

“Miles,” I breathe, lips aching to tag hers. He set up the whole thing in New Orleans, and he’s nosy enough to continue muddling in my business by playing matchmaker.

“Yes. Miles told me what you did for a living and how to reach you.”

Sneaky son of a bitch.

She lowers her lips to my neck and licks a line up to the sensitive spot behind my ear, dissembling my first wall of resistance. My hands go limp under hers. I exhale softly. Control has left the building.

“You like my tongue on you?” Her Cheshire cat smile assures me she already knows my answer.

“Yes, Siren.”

“Good. Because it’s about to be mapping your entire body with GPS tracking. I’m particularly fascinated by caves and crevices.” She releases my hands. Warmth hits me between the legs, and rubbing commences. I subtly adjust my hips to provide better access. “So many lovely things live in dark places, don’t you agree?”

“I do, indeed. And I’m also a fan of such places.”

The hand continues stoking the fire down below while her upper half converges on her target. Soft lips brush mine. My eyes drift shut. I haven’t kissed—really kissed—anyone in ages. Tenderness envelops my skin, heating it to a comfortable glow, saturating my muscles, luring them into a false sense of security. Because any minute, the tables will turn. They have to. Lizzie’s a sparkler waiting for the right moment to ignite.

I proceed cautiously and respond to her calls. She deepens the kiss; I press my chest to hers. She grinds her hips into mine; I open wider and let her in. She picks up the pace on the diddling through my pants; my pussy yields the wetness she must be looking for.

To me, there are four basic food groups for lesbian sex, and Lizzie has the first one down pat. Fingering. If you can’t finger a pussy, you might as well relinquish your lesbian license, or at the very least, find someone to train you in the art. It’s the most basic skill a lesbian should possess. We all have vaginas. If you haven’t practiced on yourself, don’t bother practicing on me. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

The three other food groups are eating (pussy), fucking (with dildos or other accessories, which can easily be improvised at a moment’s notice), and tribbing. Ah, tribbing. I’ve never partaken, but judging by the hotness of the porn I’ve watched, if anything could make me come, I’ll bet it’s tribbing.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

While the scruffing through my pants is nice, Lizzie needs to get up in there. I reach for my fly.

She slaps my face. The sting drops my jaw. I rub my chin, shocked at the sudden turn of violence, which I predicted seconds ago, but promptly forgot. Fuck.

“Okay, we need to set some ground rules.” Frustration wicks up my spine. “You can’t leave marks on my face. I have to keep up a professional appearance for my job.”

She takes a big step backward. Hands clasp her hips as she considers me. “Fine.”

“That’s it? Just ‘fine’?” She’s positively infuriating.

“You totally fucked up my groove, Jillian. Lay it all out now, so I can accommodate your requests in advance. Goddammit, I just want to fuck you.” Annoyance taints her voice.

I shake my head. “I want to fuck you too, but you gotta give me a little warning. I’m new to all this … hitting shit.”

“If you don’t like it, why didn’t you say so?” She turns away, some of her fire dampened.

“I do like it.” I grab her arm and spin her around. “When it’s sexual and grounded in the heat of a passionate moment. But when you just slap me out of the blue for no apparent reason, it’s a real turn-off. I don’t know what I can and can’t do or say with you. I’m afraid to voice opinions or show reticence because I’m not sure whether you’ll rip my head off or throw me to a wall and ravage me.”

She sighs. “Okay, then negotiate. Tell me your hard limits.”

I hadn’t really thought about limits, though I do have them.

“No ass play,” I say. Never done that before, and I’m not sure I want my first time to be with Lizzie. No telling how far she might push it.

“Fine. Dildo fucking pussy, then.”

Well, that would be hot as fuck. “Okay.”

“What else?” she demands.

“Condoms on any sex toys.”

“Done.”

“Got any history I need to know about?” I ask. It’s embarrassing, but I don’t fuck around when it comes to STIs. “I’m clean, for the record.” Hard to be dirty when you haven’t had any in ages, aside from what Lizzie already witnessed in NOLA.

“I’m clean too,” she says. “Does that mean you’re game for straight-up oral?”

I lick my lips. “Yeah.”

“I need a safe word.” I can tell by her subtle snarl she’s not a fan, but a safe word is a good idea.

“Capybara,” I blurt.

She quirks her head, an amused smile slanting her mouth. “Capybara?”

“First word that came to me.” I shrug.

“Okay.” She draws the word out. “Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of.” Insecurity wiggles into my gut. I flex my diaphragm to force it away.

“Then, here’s how the next thirty minutes will go. You’re gonna strip naked and lie facedown, hands behind your back.” She points to the prettily accessorized bed with too many satin pillows and lots of room for rolling around. “Then, I’m going to spread your legs and eat your pussy until I feel like stopping. I may take a dildo to it. I may not.

“If you make a single sound, I will punish you with a slap anywhere I see fit, except for your face. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Siren.” Shivers dart up my spine. Punishment for something I’m deserving of, I can handle. Hell, I might even welcome it.

“Now do as you’re told.”

Hands still on her hips, she towers like an angry Celtic warrior woman despite her diminutive height. Only things she’s missing are a hot leather Xena costume and a big sword.

This is it. The moment of truth. I shut off the inhibitors inside my brain and open a channel to the hollow reed running through me. Absorb everything. Feel everything. Remember everything. Except the part where Lizzie Smith is a complete bitch.

I’m so hot for her freckles and sweet round tits, I can overlook pretty much anything at this stage. And may I please have a slice of the pussy pie I only got glimpses of last time?

My mouth. It waters.

I shrug out of my jacket and toss it onto a nearby chair. I slowly unbutton my white dress shirt, slide it down my arms as I arch my back, and add it to the dark gray pile of fabric. Lizzie follows my every move. I give her the show she seems to be looking for. The plain bra strap on my left shoulder lowers. Then the right. I let the straps dangle, put the bra on hold, and undo my pants. The zipper rips down slowly, each scrape of the teeth a loud crunch in the silence swimming between us. And each scrape intensifies the ache between my legs to the point of pain.

I give her my back and bend over, dropping the pants in slow motion. My underwear is about as exciting as the no-frills bra, but in the absence of sexy lingerie, I make the seduction all about the execution. Give Lizzie a show she won’t soon forget, and transform the granny panties into a toy as teasing and pleasing as a hot-as-fuck crotchless thong.

Bitchslapping the inhibitions trying to sneak back inside my head, I float a little wiggle to my hips and dance to the cadence of my favorite Killer Buzz Float song, “Long Live The Rock.” One side of the cotton slips halfway down my thigh while the other half clings to my hip. I can’t see Lizzie’s reaction, but a pleased little murmur reaches my ears. I keep going with the tease.

My ass and tits aren’t as bouncy as they used to be, so I shake a little extra to artificially inflate my assets. When the song in my head kicks in full-force, I jerk my underwear all the way down, punt my shoes off to the side, and step out of the fabric. Turning around, I cover my pussy with one hand and flip the left cup of my bra down for a quick round of peek-a-boob. Lizzie grins. Sucking on her bottom lip, she stands up and motions for me to lose the tit harness. I unclasp the back hooks and let the bra fly.

She laughs. A genuine laugh. No condescension or judgment, just pure, honest enjoyment.

I’m totally naked, dancing to music between my ears, in front of the woman I’ve dreamed about for months. My life is complete.

“Get your ass on the bed,” she orders.

I amble over and sweep the mound of pillows off the top. The comforter comes down, and I flop onto the sheets, skin puckering with goosebumps. I flip over onto all fours, butt up, just like she instructed.

And her face collides with said ass, mouth tearing into my twat like a starving woman diving headlong into a fucking filet mignon. I collapse onto the crisp, cool white linens, breath stolen, cheeks burning, soul on fire.

Her tongue tunnels through the growing wetness until it finds my clit buried under a layer of swollen vulva. My legs part to give her a better angle. The rushed breath streaming from her nose tickles my hole. Self-consciousness seeps in. I push up just enough to get my ass out of her direct line of fire, and she rolls onto her back, inching forward. My clit crests over her top teeth. She shoves my lips apart and stabs me with her tongue over and over. My head swims as my pussy expands and contracts under her expert mouth.

I moan and gasp, writhe and grind. Her arms swing up and clamp around my thighs, forcing me still as if she’s concentrating solely on a mission to bring me to climax.

“Oh God, Lizzie,” I whisper.

She groans deeply into my slit and slaps the fuck out of my ass. I flinch back into the present. More awake than ever, and conscious of the need to keep quiet or suffer more consequences, which might not be that bad after all, I rear up to a sitting position, riding her face. The vibrations from her throaty moans carry through the channel and target the epicenter of the earthquake that’s about to hit.

Panting heavily, I’m on the brink. I think.

She pulls away, cutting off my lifesaving supply of hardcore cunnilingus. “Don’t you dare come.”

So close. The sudden halt detours my thoughts to her.

“I want to taste you,” I say, gazing down at the smattering of freckles dusting her cheeks under the makeup.

Another slap to the ass. “Shut up.”

That’s gonna leave a handprint for sure.

Gush.

She pushes me off her face and wriggles out from under me.

Fuck. What did I do?

Lizzie opens the bedside drawer and retrieves a ten-inch pink dildo attached to a harness.

Fuck. Me.

Literally.

She tugs up the hem of her shirt, revealing a pair of perfect A cups embellished by a push-up red bra. Her jeans come down equally as fast. No underwear, and oh my holy fuck, her pussy is shaved bare. Not a trace of stubble anywhere on or around it.

I need that pussy.

I sit up straighter, poking my tits out and parting my thighs to give her a glimpse of what she left behind. I’m not completely shaved, but I do keep the landing strip tidy.

Saliva jets into my mouth. What I wouldn’t give for a taste of her, but I dare not ask again. Instead, I slip two fingers in and go to town.

“Did I tell you to fuck yourself?” She pauses the climb into the strap-on webbing.

“No, Siren.” I stop.

The giant pink dick droops down her leg as she lunges forward and slaps my left breast like a cat’s paw going after a ball. She slaps the right one. Then left again. Her index finger wags in front of my face. “Don’t you fucking touch anything unless I tell you to, bitch.”

I lower my hand, breasts aching and red from the onslaught, yet pointing defiantly at her, daring her to do it again. God, who knew that kind of pain would feel so fucking right. My nipples sizzle with electric tingles, supersensitive to the cool ambient temperature in the room mixed with the heat from Lizzie’s hits. My pussy dribbles wetness onto the sheets. I subtly roll my hips back and forth into the spot.

Lizzie resumes matching up straps, covering her pretty pussy with the condom-sheathed dong. She stares down at me, a furious goddess stroking her cock. She spits on the thing and smears the natural lube up and down the shaft. The fucking tease.

“Open your whore pussy, Jillian. I’m gonna fuck you like the slut you are.”

If she knew how outlandish that statement was, she could’ve used it for a comedy routine. But if she wants to objectify me as her own personal slut-whore for a night, I’m down with it.

She stalks forward, pumping the inanimate cock like she feels every stroke. Her hair swings back with a jerk of her head. This woman is a huntress, and I am her prey.

Lying down, I whimper as my legs fall apart for her. Exposed and so fucking wet, I want her to destroy my cunt.

She mounts the bed on her knees, tosses my thighs wider like a pair of barn doors and calls the cows home. Her cock pierces me hard and rough. I cry out.

Slaps to my breasts divert my attention from the pain below to the sting up top. I grunt with each hit, and she just smacks harder.

Capybara, I think, but I hold the word down with my teeth and chew it to a fine cud.

“How does my cock feel, Jillian?” Her hand lands on my throat. She squeezes.

“Hurts too good,” I eke out. The air slows its shuttle between mouth and lungs. Tiny, colorful dots appear in my peripheral vision.

Her grip tightens.

Capybara.

“You like getting fucked by a big dick, don’t you? Bigger than Miles’s for sure.” She laughs and pounds, pounds, pounds.

The light in the room dims.

Oh God, she’s going to asphyxiate me and fuck me to death. I struggle under the twin chokeholds of her hand and the word she used to describe her attraction to me: resilience.

She leans close, her top half still and deadly, her bottom half slamming into me harder than any man ever has. “Answer me!” She tit-slaps me. “Do you like this big dick?”

My eyes bug. Intense need swirls heavy in my loins and brain. “Yes, God fucking YES.” The last of my oxygen spent on those four cheap words, I release the tension nearing the top of its crescendo and surrender to her, giving the capybara my middle finger as darkness closes.

The second I let go, she does too. Air floods into my gasping mouth. I cough and jerk under her, and my pussy fucking erupts.

A flood of endorphins seizes complete control of my body, and this insane swell of pure sex whisks me to a private place away from thoughts of the band and Lizzie’s acidic personality to a home I didn’t know existed, somewhere on the borderlands of heaven and hell. I’m vaguely aware of my hips rushing to meet hers, the kiss of my pussy on the root of the dildo.

I open my eyes—didn’t realize they were closed—and Lizzie smiles down at me, her face full of tenderness. She caresses my cheek as she continues fucking the ever-loving lesbian out of me. In the process, she catches the next wave out of nowhere, offers it to me on the head of her dick, and fucks me straight into another orgasm.

Arms out to my sides, I am dead. Floating on the cloud of pleasure and pain and her and apples and cinnamon and more pain. My pussy aches, its fat, swollen lips beaten. My legs burn from the intense workout. My breasts throb, already turning black and blue from her viciously loving attacks.

“There,” Lizzie says. “There you go, Jillian.” Her soft, gentle words offset the violent ingress below, tricking me into not only believing in pain but fucking worshipping it.

“Yes … yes … yes,” I mumble, head lolling.

Flecks of sex hype up Lizzie’s dilated eyes with the kind of greedy lust found in backlit alleys during summer rainstorms. “My turn.”

In a gravity-defying move, she hikes her leg across my prone body and shoves her pretty, painted toes into my mouth. Hungry. I grab her foot and suck while she keeps up the thrusts amid her talented, if precarious, balancing act. My cunt may be destroyed, but I don’t have a single fuck to give. Darkness shadows her features, bathing her in a sinister glow. I submit to the devil. I have no other choice.

The foot lowers to my neck. She holds me down by the throat as she fills my hole with pain and misery and joy and lust.

I fuck harder.

She fucks harder.

She pulls out and drags her mighty dick to my mouth, forcing me to suck it. My head bobs as I imagine her pouring cum down my throat. I gasp and gag. Spit runs from the corners of my lips.

Then she loosens the straps, drops the webbing and dildo, and kicks the shit off one leg at a time. Her pussy hovers over my salivating mouth and plunges down. I invade her cunt with my tongue, wallowing in the sweet smell and taste of her, spreading her lips far apart, eager to get to the good stuff.

And good stuff, there is. She grabs my hair like a pair of reins and rides home. Fucking my face, Lizzie slips and slides in her own flow, grinding my nose to a nub, wearing out my tongue. I target her clit and suck it until she throws her head back and roars.

I drown in her juices.

With the impending loss of faculties, the stress of my life rushes in a great whoosh from the new holes Lizzie poked into me. All identity, purpose, and willpower leaves my physical body. I lie prone at Lizzie’s altar, awed by the magic that is her. And exist.

I am nothing more than a wet, sated noodle.

Exhaustion. Power exchange. Control.

And my very first (and second!) orgasm.

What beautiful gifts.