CHAPTER ONE

Ever since they made her a partner, Carla had been toying with the idea of buying a house. On Sundays, she would sit in her bed, with the paper and her coffee, perusing the Real Estate section. On April 14, she got up at her usual late Sunday morning hour of 9, donned her silk kimono robe and padded into the kitchen to make coffee. Maurice was nowhere to be seen, but she knew he was lurking around somewhere, so she poured a little of her coffee cream into a saucer for him.

When she opened the door to the condominium common space, Maurice thought he had seen his chance. He made a mad dash between Carla’s legs as she bent to retrieve her Sunday paper, but she was too quick for him. She unfolded the paper and he ran smack dab into a wall that only a second before hadn’t existed. There was a small flurry of claws and the paper fell apart, but by then Carla had him firmly by the scruff of the neck. Holding him in one hand, she calmly stacked the sections into a pile and scooping it up, closed the door with her hip as she deposited Maurice on the floor in front of his cream saucer. “There you are, Sweetie. Try some of that.” She knew she spoiled him, but he was all she had.

Unless, of course, she counted Alice and Gerald. But she didn’t really have them, since they had each other. And, truth be told, in reality they had her. She always felt a little subservient in their presence and whenever they wanted a plaything, it seemed she was always the one chained or tied to the table, screaming to be allowed to cum.

Last weekend had been no different. In honor of Easter, Gerald had brought home some new remote controlled vibrating balls, shaped like eggs, and Alice had knocked together a new rack, shaped like a cross. So it was only natural that Carla wound up strapped to the cross, with Easter eggs up in her, screaming for release of her pent-up sexual tensions. Afterwards, Carla went home walking gingerly because she was still a little sore from the pounding her pussy had taken, and made a pot of coffee to have while she perused her paper.

But this Sunday, having seen to it that Maurice was taken care of and having made her coffee, Carla collected up the paper from the table and took it and her coffee into the bedroom. She tossed the paper onto the bed, set her coffee down, and went into her dressing room to hang up the kimono. As she turned to go back into the bedroom, she caught a glance of herself in the full length dressing mirror. Hm-m-m. Not too bad for forty, she thought to herself. In fact, I’ll bet these tits can still pass the “pencil test”. Giggling to herself, she crossed over to her makeup table and picked up a lip liner, but set it down again and selected an eyebrow pencil instead. If I drop that liner and crack it all up inside, I won’t forgive myself, she thought quickly. With her left hand, she raised her right boob and using her right, placed the eyebrow pencil horizontally beneath it. She let go of her boob then the pencil, which dropped to the floor. A-ha! She thought to herself. Perky as ever. Take THAT, Rue McClanahan. You and your Blanche Deveraux can go sit on it.



Having happily satisfied her curiosity, Carla sashayed across the room and climbed up onto her bed. Settling herself in and taking a sip of her coffee, she picked up the top section of the paper and began to read. It just happened to be the Real Estate section. On page two, there was a new full-page advertisement that hadn’t been in previous editions.

“New in town? Let me show you around. Specializing in one-of-a-kind pre-owned homes. Call any time, day or night, and leave a message on my personal cell phone. I’ll get back to you within the following day, seven days a week. Need a loan? We are a full-service realty office, and can arrange financing, title search, all settlement needs and moving to make your transition to the home of your dreams as smooth as possible. Call now, 1-800-537-2426.”

Carla looked at the phone number and giggled. 537-2426 – that spells LESBIAN. It must be a sign. I gotta call this one. Oh, that’s silly. It’s just a coincidence.

When she was a teen, she and her best friend, Beth, had figured out a code to keep the nuns from reading any intercepted notes to the whole class. By substituting the numbers from a telephone dial, and by knowing each other so well, they were able to send messages back and forth in class to one another, using the dialing numbers in place of letters. Any word confusion was practically eliminated by knowing the context of their on-going conversation. There was that one time though, when they were first using the code, that Beth had a terrible time figuring out who 03532 was. Carla had to tell her after class, “Zelda, silly. Since there’s no Q or Z on the dial, I thought I could use “0” for ”Z” and you’d know it had to be one of those two letters. There aren’t any letters assigned to 1, either. We can use that for Q.”

Ever since those high school years, Carla had automatically seen words whenever she saw a written telephone number. Other people thought she was very strange, especially those younger ones, who didn’t remember rotary dials, because push-button phones have a different letter assignment that includes both Q and Z.

For the next several days, Carla could not stop thinking about the coincidental telephone number. She had long since learned it was best not to tell people about her dial-reading expertise though, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

Finally, Thursday evening, after a grueling meeting with her client’s estranged-husband’s attorney, Carla was relaxing in the tub, sipping her third glass of wine and thinking about that phone number. 1-800 LESBIAN. That’s what I need. Gerald and Alice are all very well and good, but a girl needs a little variety.

She reached down with her free hand and idly began fingering her outer lips.

With a sudden burst of resolve, she stood up, splashing water all over the bathroom floor and set her empty wine glass on the back of the toilet. The cold air made her nipples harden as she whipped the towel off its rack, and began to vigorously dry herself.

A few minutes later, she was listening to the ringing sound in her ear while she waited for the voice mail to pick up.

“Hello, you’ve reached Doris, your friendly real estate agent. I am either out showing a house, or temporarily away from my desk, but your call is important to me. Please leave your name, number, a brief message following the beep, and I will return your call as soon as possible……BEEP!”



“Hi. This is Carla Menotti. I saw your ad in the Sunday paper and am interested in moving from my condo to a single family home in this same area. Please call me back anytime at …” and here she gave her cell phone number, not wanting to receive a call from a potential realtor on the office phone.

Hanging up the phone, Carla was struck with a sudden thought. Wasn’t Alice and Gerald’s realtor’s name Doris? I wonder. But LESBIAN?! Nah. Can’t be.



“Lada dedadeda de, la de da, la de da,” Carla idly hummed to herself as she dialed Alice’s home phone number.

“Hi, Girlfriend! What’s up?” Alice asked.

“Dammit! I swear, I will never get used to caller ID,” Carla said, and went on, “Look, I have been thinking for a while now about maybe getting my own house …”

“So you can scream all you want to without disturbing the neighbors,” Alice interrupted, laughing.

“Well, yeah. That too,” Carla admitted. “But here’s the thing: I saw an ad the other day that intrigued me. It was for one-of-a-kind pre-owned homes, so I called the number.”

“And?”

“I got a voice mail. Someone named Doris. Wasn’t that your realtor’s name?”

“Oh my God, yes! She was something else. All dollar signs and condescending; a real bitch on wheels. Don’t tell me you’re gonna use her.”

“Actually, I was thinking I would. But now that I’m thinking it must be the same person who tried to screw you and Gerald out of ten grand, maybe I’ll do more than use her for real estate. I still have my charms, and I’ll bet I can turn her just as quickly as I turned you. I can use her to get off and if we were to be caught in flagrante delecto by a well-known attorney and his wife who just happened to drop by, wouldn’t that be interesting?”

“Carla, girlfriend, you’re diabolical,” Alice laughed. “Just let me know when, and I’ll drag Gerald in off the links. He’d probably enjoy a little fun at her expense, too. Hey, look. Gotta run. Gerald’s dad’s birthday is today and his mom and dad are coming for dinner. I have to get cleaned up and changed yet. But call me, okay?”

“I’ll keep you posted,” Carla replied, and pressed the end call button.

On Friday, Carla was driving home from work, thinking about what she was going to fix for dinner and debating ordering a pizza, when her cell phone went off. She glanced down at it, lying next to her on the passenger seat. “1-800-LESBIAN” the caller ID read. Shit! thought Carla. I can’t answer that while I’m driving. Oh well, I guess she’ll leave a message. I’ll be home in a few minutes and can call her back.

Five minutes later, she turned into the parking lot at her condo. As usual, all the close spaces were taken up, so she circled the island, and parked on the far side. When I have my own place, dammit, I’m gonna have a garage, she thought to herself, as she put the sunscreen up into the windshield.

She let herself into her condo, deftly snagging Maurice as he made a dash for the entry hall. “Hi, Sweetums,” she cooed. “Did you miss me?”

“Miaow,” Maurice replied in what sounded to her more like an “I want food, you fool,” voice than “Hi, welcome home.” Or maybe it was “Where the Hell have you been all freaking day?”

She sighed and set him on the counter while she opened the refrigerator to get out his can of food. Just as she was setting Maurice’s plate out, her phone went off again. She snagged it out of the holder and looked at it. 1-800 LESBIAN, it read on the caller ID. Cool! she thought to herself, as she pressed the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Hello. This is Doris, your friendly realtor. Is…um…Carla Malotney available?”

“This is she. Except it’s Menotti. M, as in Mike; E, as in Easy; N, as in November; O, as in Oscar; T, as in Tango; T, as in Tango again; I, as in India. Menotti.”

“Oh, I am so sorry, Ms Menotti, please forgive me. My answering machine at the office is one of those old tape kinds and I guess I really need to get a new one. Anyway, you called in reference to the ad in the Sunday paper?”

“Think nothing of it,” Carla replied “You did a better job than most of trying to make sense of ny name. Yes I did call. I am currently in a condominium, but have gotten a significant promotion at work and feel I can consider up-grading to a single family home.”

“Do you have some idea of what you are looking for? Is there a Mr. Menotti?”

“Oh no, it’s just me and Maurice. He’s a Saimese.”

“Then I suppose you’ll be looking for handicapped accessible…” Doris began.

“A cat,” Carla said, rather sharply.” He’s a Siamese CAT!”

At this, Doris couldn’t help herself. She began laughing. “Oh goodness! Of course! Please forgive me again. I was picturing something from Barnum and Bailey.”

At that, Carla laughed, too. “Well, I suppose that WOULD require handicapped accessibility,” she said. She was beginning to think it was going to be interesting, having a fling with someone who had such odd thoughts in the middle of a perfectly normal conversation. “Look,” she went on, “I just walked in the door from work. May I call you back in about half an hour? Or maybe come by your office later this evening?”

“Actually, I’m not in the office right now. I’m calling you from my car. If you’re planning on putting your condo on the market when you purchase a home, I’ll need to see it. Would it be all right with you if I came by tomorrow? I can bring some listings for you to look over and, if you like, we can drive around and look at them.”

Carla glanced around and deciding her place wasn’t too messy at the moment replied, “Sure. How about ten-ish? I’ll put a pot of coffee on. That is, unless you’d prefer tea?”

Doris, hearing “tea” as a code word for “lesbian drink” replied, “Thanks. Coffee would be great. Tea is for les… um …less hardy drinkers.”

“I have never been much on tea myself,” Carla replied, “Except when I’m sick.” Or iced, after a long session in Alice’s basement, she thought to herself.

“I have friends who drink tea exclusively. I go to their homes and they offer me a choice of sixteen different flavors of herbal teas, none of which appeal to me,” Doris said, hoping Carla might take the hint.

“I prefer other flavors,” Carla replied, wondering if this conversation was going where she thought it was.

“Yes,” Doris replied. She was certain now that she and Carla were on the same wavelength, and went on, “And not from a teacup, either.”

“Well, I really do want to get out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable,” Carla said, and went on, “Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll give you my address.”

Doris, wondering if she had said too much, hastily pulled off to the side of the road, fishing a pad of paper from her purse as she did. “Okay, go,” she replied.

Carla gave Doris her address and finished the conversation by saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at ten then. I’ll make sure Maurice is in his carrier. He’ll make a racket, but if he gets too loud, we can put him in the bathroom with the door closed. That way, he won’t bother us.”

After she hung up the phone, Doris sat in her car alongside of the road, wondering just why Carla thought the cat might bother them. Then she started thinking about what to wear for her visit. She decided a suit would be best and tried to remember if she had gotten her pinstriped suit from the cleaner. She knew the jacket and a white blouse would easily hide the corset she intended to wear beneath, and thought the pencil skirt, combined with black hose and high patent heels would give her an advantage of both height and severity. She wondered how tall Carla was.

Meanwhile, Carla scurried around the condo, picking up odds and ends and straightening things, while she thought about what she would wear the next day. She decided if she dressed softly, it would be easy to make Doris think she was in control, and it would be easier to seduce her if she appeared non-threatening. After putting the last magazine in a neat stack on the coffee table, she picked up her phone and ordered a pizza.

Saturday morning, Carla awoke earlier than usual. Her first thought was this was the day that she was going to set out to seduce Doris. She fed Maurice, and quickly showered and dried herself. While she was blow-drying her hair, she thought about what to wear. Sexy matching bra and panties were a no-brainer and she had several sets that would do, but the street clothing was a different problem. She finally decided on a tank top layered beneath a cardigan, and a denim wrap skirt. Since she was in the house, shoes were not a consideration. As she passed her full-length mirror, she glanced at herself, and thought, I look like something out of a Land’s End or LL Bean catalog. How boring. Well, I’m certainly not threatening.

She was on her second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. She padded to the door, scooping up Maurice on her way. As she opened the door, Maurice began to struggle, but she had a firm grip on him, so his struggling was to no avail.

“Hi, come in. I’d offer to shake hands, but the escape artist has me a little busy right now.”

Doris looked at them and smiled. “He looks like such a sweetie, though. He may be struggling, but he isn’t using fingernails. Are you, Pussycat?” She reached out and stroked Maurice under his chin. As she did so, her hand brushed across the top of Carla’s arm.

Carla shivered slightly.

Maurice immediately settled down and began purring.

Doris gently closed the door behind herself, and Carla set Maurice down on the floor.

She stood up then and looked at Doris. She was at once struck by the severity of Doris’ outfit and the tight bun she had set her hair in. She felt a slight sinking in the pit of her stomach. This might not be going the way she had expected.

Doris smiled at her and said quietly, but in an even tone that was at once both gentle and commanding, “I believe you offered me coffee.”

“Yes, Ma …um.. May I get you some?” Carla, realizing she had almost said, “Ma’am,” caught herself just in time. She was suddenly very nervous in her own home. “Cream or sugar?” she asked, too brightly.

“No, thank you. Black will be just fine.”

There it was again, Doris spoke in an even tone of voice, well-modulated, distinct, and clearly commanding. Carla’s mind was racing. What have I gotten myself into, she wondered. Her hand shook slightly as she handed Doris the mug.

Doris looked Carla in the eye, and smiled slightly. She took a sip of the coffee, and said, “Ummm. This is good. I shall have to remember you make good coffee. Shall we sit down?”

Carla, by now totally flummoxed forgot herself completely, and said, “Please do, Ma’am.” Then, without thinking, she added, “May I sit, too?” Her eyes widened and her hand flew up to her mouth as she suddenly realized what she had done.

Doris ignored Carla’s obvious discomfiture, and said, “Of course. Now. Let’s get down to business, shall we? After I spoke with you last night, I did a little research online. It seems congratulations are in order on your having recently been made a partner. Oh, yes. After my little setback with your partner and his wife … Alice, wasn’t it? … I decided to check out any possible future clients carefully before meeting them or showing them any properties. And really, I’m not a bad person. I was going through a very bad time in my life then and I rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. You may be wondering why I am telling you this, but it seems obvious to me that if we are to have any kind of business rapport, you need to know as much about me as I do about …”

Again, Carla’s mind was racing. She thought to herself, this woman has come into my home and taken complete control, but is now baring her soul. And what’s even stranger, for some reason, I feel compelled to let her. Those steely grey eyes could bore holes through a person. They match the pinstripes in her suit. I wonder if those are pantyhose, or if she’s wearing a suspender belt? Her waist seems so small. Is she wearing a corset? I wonder what she kisses... NO! I’m not going to kowtow to her. She is going to fall for ME!

“You aren’t listening, Dear. What are you thinking about?” Doris was suddenly asking.

“I … um …I,” Carla stammered.

“Maurice got your tongue? Oh, yes. You and I are going to have a fine business relationship. But first, would you get me some more coffee?” She held out her mug.

Carla took the mug, and as she did so, their fingers touched. She felt a bolt of electricity shoot up her arm, and down her side. It wrapped around her abdomen, and went straight to her crotch. She took the mug and almost ran into the kitchen to refill it. She set the mug on the counter and placed both her hands on the edge of the counter as she leaned over it, trying to keep her mind from racing. Suddenly aware of movement behind her, she whirled around.

Doris was right there. They stood there for an instant, face to face, neither saying a word. Doris reached out and gently stroked Carla’s cheek with the back of her finger. “You’ve been wanting this for a long time,” she said.

Carla looked down at her feet, speechless.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Doris said, sternly. Gone was the quiet gently modulated voice. This was clearly the voice of a person in charge, who expected complete and swift obedience. She reached out, and placed her crooked finger beneath Carla’s chin, lifting her head, and forcing her to look directly forward.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Carla said, meekly.

“Good girl,” Doris said gently, and still holding Carla’s chin upward, descended with her mouth upon Carla’s. Her kiss was soft, yet insistent, and tasted of strawberry, coffee, and a hint of jasmine.

Carla felt her lips part of their own accord and she invited Doris’ tongue into her mouth, welcoming its intrusion, and craving it. Her knees felt numb, as if she were going to collapse to the floor, but somehow she managed to remain standing. Doris broke the kiss first, stepping back slightly and said, “You were getting me more coffee, remember?”

Carla was breathing heavily and she felt her heart pounding as if it would burst. She nodded numbly and she turned toward the counter and the coffee pot. Having refilled Doris' mug, she turned and held it out to her, but Doris turned on her heel and walked purposefully back toward the living room.

Carla followed, carrying the mug.

Doris seated herself on the sofa once again, and nodded toward the coffee table.

Carla, taking the nod as a command, set the mug on the table.

Doris smiled at her, and said, “Good. Now, where was I? Oh yes I was … oh, DO sit down … you do still live here, you know.”

Carla sat, but this time she didn’t relax into the chair; she remained upright, seated at the edge, her hands folded demurely in her lap and her legs crossed at the ankle beneath her. She kept her eyes downward, staring at a point on the floor, halfway between herself and Doris.

“You may look me in the eye, Dear. I’m not a slave driver and I don’t demand complete obsequiousness. I want to be, as much as anything else, your friend. I suspect that is really what you want, too. Anyway …so as I was saying, about six months before I was showing Gerald and Alice that house, my husband had been killed in a skiing accident. The insurance company had invoked a clause that made the policy null and void if he engaged in known dangerous activities, and their attorneys had argued he was on a closed slope when the accident occurred. So, at that time, I was not particularly enamoured of attorneys and I was scared and afraid of losing my own house if I didn’t make my sales quota. I was following the path of least resistance to making a sale, by being as “normal” as possible. Of course, that just set Alice and Gerald’s teeth on edge, as they are anything but normal. I’ve seen Alice in the hardware store, trying out clamps on her fingers. There’s only one reason to do that, and it isn’t what people would consider “normal”, is it?” She stopped and took a sip of her coffee and smiled at Carla.

Carla, meanwhile had been sitting listening, and completely fascinated by this person, who could be both so commanding, yet seemed to have a history that was so meek. More and more, as Doris’ story unfolded she found herself attracted not just to Doris as sex Mistress, but also as a genuinely nice person.

“Well – enough about me,” Doris went on. “Now I should tell you what I know of you. You started college pursuing a degree in horticulture, which you obtained, but quickly discovered it would not pay the rent. So you went back to school and obtained a degree in law. While pursuing your LLD, you worked for Gerald as a paralegal, then after passing the bar, practiced with the firm until you finally made partner. You are very self-assured in the courtroom, but outside of it, become an entirely different person. You often have been seen coming and going to Gerald and Alice’s house, frequently spending entire weekends there. And you have been seen occasionally limping a bit as you walked from your car to your condominium after those weekends. As I said, I did a little research last night. I have developed my own circle of friends and acquaintances, who I call upon for certain bits of information from time to time. In exchange for that, I keep them, or in the case of men, their wives or girlfriends, happy. Now then, let’s find you a house, shall we?”

Carla, completely taken aback by Doris' breadth of knowledge about her, was dumbly silent once again.

“All right,” Doris said, once again taking command of the situation, “I can see you are a bit overwhelmed. Let’s get all that out of the way.” With those words, Doris stood, and shrugged off her jacket. Folding it carefully and laying it across the back of the sofa, she unbuttoned her blouse, and took it off, treating it the same as her jacket.

Carla was stunned to see Doris was wearing a beautiful red and black brocade corset. She briefly wondered why it did not show through her blouse, when Doris turned toward her again.

She reached behind herself, and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. “Pick it up,” she commanded, and Carla scurried to comply.

Carla couldn’t help noticing the matching suspender belt, and the thick thatch of hair that covered Doris’ mound.

Retrieving the skirt, Carla began to stand up, but Doris stepped forward and held her down with a hand firmly grasping the back of Carla’s neck. “Stay on your knees, wench,” she said, imperiously. “Fold the skirt and hand it to me.”

“Yes Ma…” Carla started to reply, but was silenced by a sharp smack to her behind.

“Hand me my briefcase. Without talking. I will tell you when to speak.”

Carla did as she was told, and was surprised to see Doris take a wooden spoon out of the inside pocket.

“Lift your skirt up over your back, and get on your hands and knees.”

Carla, blushing furiously, slowly got to her hands and knees, and began lifting her skirt.

“Oh, what pretty panties! Stand up and take them off.”

Carla, still blushing, stood slowly and bent over from the waist to reach up under her skirt.

“Hurry up! I haven’t all day!” Doris barked, and emphasized her words by giving Carla a sharp smack on the bottom with the spoon.

Carla yelped, more from surprise than from pain; the skirt had deadened the blow so that she just barely felt it. Again, her mind was racing. Why am I doing this? She asked herself. Why don’t I just say no? Is she going to hurt me? What is it about this woman that makes me want to please her?



As she asked herself these questions, she robotically slid her panties over her hips, down her legs, and stepped out of them. It was as if her body was a puppet, controlled by some outside force, against which she had no will to resist.

“Back on your hands and knees,” commanded Doris. “Skirt up. Good girl. Now, what is going to happen is I’m going to spank you,” Doris said. “Not hard; it isn’t for pain. It is to show you what you really like. If it gets to be just about all you can bear, the code word is “yellow”; if it is too much, say “red” and I shall stop immediately. Do you understand? You may answer, slut.”

“Yes, Mistress. Yellow for warning, and red to stop.”

“That’s right. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good.”

Doris began gently running the spoon all over Carla’s ass and thighs. She didn’t hit her; she just gently slid the spoon all over. Inserting it against Carla’s inner thigh, she pressed outward with the flat of it. “Spread your legs.”

Carla spread her legs, and Doris ran the spoon all over Carla’s thighs and buttocks, and then very gently began tapping Carla with it. She had turned the curved side toward Carla, and it made a thwacking sound with each stroke, but it still didn’t hurt very much. As she spanked Carla, moving the spoon and placing each hit so that it fell just on the edge of the previous one, she circled her. At one point, she was standing over Carla’s head, and reaching across Carla’s back to spank her bottom. With her other hand, she grasped Carla’s hair and tilted her head up so that her nose was pressed into Doris’ mound. “Breathe,” she commanded.

Carla did as she was told. She had no other choice really, for she had been holding her breath as the stinging on her bottom began to intensify. She inhaled deeply and found that the smell of Doris’ sex was a heady mixture of sweet and salt. She was reminded the smell of hot sand, sunscreen and ocean air. She tentatively stuck out her tongue, wanting to taste what she smelled; wanting to fill her senses with the scent and taste of this woman.

“Did I ask you to lick?” Doris asked, giving Carla an extra hard whack with the spoon. She stepped away form Carla’s head then, and slowly walked back and forth along Carla’s side.

Carla listened to the click of Doris’ heels on the hardwood floor, and wondered if the spanking was over. Part of her wanted it to be, but part of her wanted more. She had just begun to feel the heat rising in the backs of her upper thighs, and beginning to curl around her inner thighs towards her center. She squirmed as she waited for Doris to begin again.

“You’re squirming. Does that mean you want me to stop?” Doris asked.

“Yes, no, oh, I don’t know. I need…”

“What? You need what?” Doris interrupted. “Speak up girl. Don’t be shy.”

“Yes, I need more,” Carla sighed, almost inaudibly. Why am I saying these things? She thought to herself. What has this woman reduced me to?



“Yes. You do. I know it, and deep down inside, you know it too. You crave this. This is what you’ve been looking for, while experimenting with Gerald and Alice all these years.”

All the while, Doris had been slowly running her hand over Carla’s buttocks and legs. Still resting her one hand on Carla’s back, she began again with the spoon, this time a little more slowly than before. She methodically spanked first one cheek, then the other. She was hitting the same spot over and over again now.

As Doris continued, Carla could feel the heat beginning to rise in her lags and buttocks. Still, Doris kept up. She didn’t seem to hit any harder, but Carla began to realize that it wasn’t necessary to hit hard to cause pleasurable pain. She could feel the fire beginning all over the backs of her legs and her buttocks, and then a very strange thing happened; the pain began to subside, and there was just heat. It was heat that was centering closer and closer to her most sensitive spot. She thought at first she was just imagining it, but then she felt something crawling down her inner thigh, and realized it must have been her own moisture, leaking. As soon as she realized that, she suddenly became aware of how incredibly engorged her labia were. She could feel that they were swollen, and her clitoris was throbbing with each beat of her heart. She could feel her nipples hardening against the inside of her bra. The heat in her crotch was getting more and more intense.

“Yellow” she said.

“Good girl,” Doris said gently, and began tapping more gently, while with her other hand she gently stroked across the reddened flesh.

Carla felt Doris’ hand, but her mind wasn’t able to distinguish exactly what it was, except that it was a cross between soothing and irritating; she couldn’t decide which. Her legs began to shake and she was vaguely aware of someone moaning far off in the distance. Her arms collapsed and she rested her head on her hands, her buttocks high up in the air. She felt as if she was on the edge of an orgasm, but it remained just out of reach. “Please,” she heard herself say.

“Please what?” Doris asked, as she continued to tap with the spoon and rub with her other hand.

“Please,” Carla said again. She wanted Doris to touch her; to make her orgasm gather and explode, but she couldn’t get her mind to focus well enough to form the thoughts into coherent words. “Oh God, please!” she cried out.

“Is it too much?” Doris asked, worried that she might actually be hurting Carla.

“No. Just please. Please make me cum. Touch me. Touch IT. Oh God.”

Doris stopped tapping with the spoon, and laid it across Carla’s back. With one hand she continued to gently rub Carla’s ass and thighs, occasionally curling her fingers and gently raking her fingernails across the reddened surface. With her other, she gently began making small circles on Carla’s clitoris.

Suddenly, Carla cried out, and arching her back, straightened her legs and dropped, quivering, onto the floor on her stomach. She lay there, her entire body jerking twice, three times, and then lay still, gasping for air.

Doris bent down beside her, and gently brushed Carla’s hair away from her mouth and nose. “Just stay here and rest,” Doris said. “I’ll be right back.” She stood up, and looking around crossed the living room into the bedroom. Finding what she was looking for, she stepped into the bathroom, and dampened a washcloth she found hanging over the edge of the bathroom sink.

Returning to Carla, she bent down, and gently placed the cool damp washcloth on Carla’s forehead.

Carla opened her eyes and smiled. “That feels good, she said.”