A thought dropped by … Well, actually, it walked up to the front door, used a fire axe to break in, then told me what it wanted. Fortunately, with a bit of succubish persuasion, it will wait its turn. The actual thought will eventually appear, but getting there will take a little getting to …
And Now the News…
“Be careful what you wish for … you might just get it.” –said by Tera usually when she is about to teach someone a lesson.
Every world has them. They may be called a multitude of different things in the multitude of different languages that exist in the universe, but they serve an important function within the societies they exist in. On one particular blue and green world that orbited a bright yellow star, the phenomenon was known as the press.
Some manifestations of the press are known to do good, revealing those that do harm, do wrong, and bringing them to the light in order to save the innocent from their darkness. Others couldn’t care less about the meaning of right or wrong, but instead focus on innuendo, making headlines, and, for the most part, caring only about sensationalizing what they learn … or making it up as they go along.
In one of the major cities on this world there stands a grey building—not the tallest, but one of the most imposing of them all; a blocky structure, with squared corners and rectangular windows. In this cold and foreboding place, one the largest, if not the most wise or most considerate or even most charitable organizations, sent out their words to the world and influenced many.
High up, far above the streets below, in a corner of the building, a woman stood looking out across the city. She was the Queen of her domain, that being the host of the highest-rated news program on this world.
She had worked hard to get where she was, stepping on, over, and sometimes through her challengers and opposition to get all that she wanted. While the world only saw the blonde ex-model who was the face of her network, smiling and looking pretty for the camera as needed, being the bearer of bad news, or good, as needed to be.
But all those with ambition continually look for their next conquest, the next step on their path to greatness. She was no different in this. She needed to find something more, something that would cause a tremor in society which, in time, she could use to move into a place of real power.
She looked across the gulf of the downtown core, her eyes focused upon a building that looked nothing like the one she ruled over. It was, she had to admit, almost sensual in its form: a silver spire of curves, echoes of something that tugged at her memories. But she couldn’t quite place why it seemed so familiar. Even the windows were curved, mirrored glass, that reflected the light falling upon the building and returned that light to those that lived around the place. It was said, though she never put much stock in it, that no shadow ever fell onto the streets below from what she saw as her silver nemesis.
Stealing a glance below, she noticed the shadow of her own building darkening the streets below her and thought nothing of it. Pressing her hands against the window, she tried to will the silver spire to give up its secrets to her. After a time she heard him walk into her office and, without turning to look at him, made her first mistake. “She’s hiding something. Has to be.”
He was silent, taking a chair on the other side of the desk from which she ruled before answering: “Are you kidding? You actually want to go and stir something up with her? Are you nuts?”
Tearing her eyes away from the target of her ire, the blonde turned that spite upon him: “She’s only a woman, trapped in her little world, doing whatever she wants to Rich.”
He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses back into place: “And what she wants to do is run a charity, help the needy, provide for …”
She cut him off: “She goes to dinners, to political events. She surrounds herself with the rich and famous. She’s using them for her own purposes.”
“How do you know, Paige?”
Stalking away from the window, she dropped into her leather chair, rolling it closer to her desk: “Because that’s what I would do in her place.”
He shook his head: “Not everyone is like you.”
Paige had an irritating habit of picking up a letter opener and rolling it between her fingers, which she did now, knowing full well that Rich hated her doing so: “Anyone with power gets corrupted. She’s hiding something, and we’re going to find out what it is.”
He shrugged: “It’s your funeral. I’m sure the staff will send flowers.”
She replied with a snort of derision, but then noticed that he was holding an envelope in his hands: “What’s that?”
Holding it with two fingers, he looked at it: “This? This is a letter addressed to you … from her.”
Paige was surprised enough that she dropped the letter opener and it clattered onto her glass top desk loudly, making Rich twitch slightly. “What?”
“I said, she sent you a letter—actually, a letter and someone that delivered it for her. The someone is waiting outside.”
“I suppose waiting for your answer.” He stood up, tossing the letter onto her desk and started to walk out. Pausing at the door he warned: “You are dealing with power here. I wish you’d reconsider.”
She had already grabbed the letter and was ripping it open: “She’s scared … only reason why she would send a letter. Give me five, then send the messenger in.”
Once Rich left, she pulled the letter out of the envelope.
It has come to my attention that you wish to insert yourself into my affairs, that you would like to find out all about me.
I know everything I need to know about you. I know your preferred course of action, what you have done in the past. Still, I am sure that, if you do not get your way, you will make up some kind of story to put my charities in a bad light and harm untold souls. I myself care not, but harming others? This is something that I cannot accept.
Therefore, of your own free will, if you accompany the bearer of this letter, she will bring you to me. You have this one opportunity to do so. If you refuse, there will not be another.
The choice is yours.
The signature at the bottom of the letter was a single letter written in a feminine hand, but there seemed to be a power in the two strokes that formed it.
Paige laughed as she spun around in her chair gleefully, believing that her notoriety had cowed her opponent into giving into her. Stopping her spin, she looked across to that silver building and waved the letter at it: “Oh, I accept, absolutely.”
A soft voice purred from across the room: “She expected you would.”
The words caught her off balance, and Paige turned around to see who had been tasked with bringing her the message. She expected some ordinary, unimpressive worker or paper pusher with no class wearing a three piece suit.
What she found, however, took her breath away.
Paige thought of herself as stunning. After all, all of the cosmetic surgery, makeup, and everything else she did to attract attention to herself was designed for one purpose: she needed to be the centre of attention wherever she was. At that moment, she realized that she was never going to see herself as that again.
Standing there, framed by the doorway, was a petite woman, her long blonde hair in a ponytail—which, Paige noticed, was swaying slowly behind her. Soft pink lips, sparkling blue eyes, the perfect skin tone combined to set off her features and bring them to the fore. She cut a figure in her emerald lace dress and heels, one that Paige could never hope to match. Her curves, while not so extreme as Paige’s, made her so much more beautiful than Paige could ever hope for. This woman, whoever she was, didn’t force her beauty out; it simply was there, as easy as breathing was to her.
Paige swallowed: “Who … are you?”
The woman smiled as she walked closer: “I am her Song. She asked that I come here and deliver her letter.”
Paige found her thoughts scrambled by the self-assuredness that Song had. It wasn’t forced, faked, or manufactured. There was something in her words, her poise, her walk, that stated, clearly, that she was one with herself and who and what she was. Paige found herself jealous of this, and found the edge in her voice again: “Well you did. I accept.”
Song walked around the side of her hostess’ desk, pausing a few short steps away. Paige noticed a red ribbon tied in a bow on Song’s right wrist and wondered why it was there.
Song’s voice drew Paige’s attention to those sparkling blue eyes: “Tell me, again, that you accept … with all your soul.”
Paige felt chastised—as if her acceptance wasn’t enough—but held her tongue when she saw how calmly Song waited, as if the next words she spoke were the most important in her life. She thought about how Song spoke of “Her,” the slight catch in her voice when she mentioned … “Her.” Something clicked in her mind and she whispered: “Who is she?”
Song smiled, shaking her head slightly: “She. You do not understand, but you will, in time.”
Paige could hear the capitalization, the reverence in the word, and for the first time felt frightened. She drew a breath, to call out for Rich, for help, but bit her lip. She had to go through with this. She needed this. Nothing would happen to her—she was too well known, everyone would see her leave with Song. It would be fine, wouldn’t it?
For the first time in ages, she prayed so as she answered: “I accept with all my soul.”
Song smiled: “Of course you do.”
Rich was filing some paperwork—there always was paperwork—when the two women walked out of the office. Miss Ponytail was walking with Paige, and holding her hand. He started to ask where they were going when Paige spoke, the pair not stopping as she did so: “I’m going to set up an interview. Back later.”
He nodded and watched the two walk towards the elevators, unconcerned about what was happening. It wasn’t the first time that Paige had gone off to see some big shot and get a time and place worked out. While he was mulling over why Paige’s voice sounded off, when the elevator sounded and the doors opened, he calmly watched them enter the elevator, turning back towards him. The doors closed and he returned to his work.
It wasn’t until later that he realized that something was odd with Paige’s eyes.
As the elevator descended, Paige stood silently, looking towards the mirrored doors. She saw, but thought nothing of it, that her eyes were completely white. She saw Song beside her, her lips close to her ear, whispering a song to her. Of course, Paige would listen. Song had explained that “She” wanted her to.
The thought made her wet and feeling Song’s fingertips brushing along her thigh just made her sink further and further into the Song …
… “Her” Song … Being “Her’s” … Needing “Her.”
A fleeting thought came to her and the shiver that passed through her as a result pushed her further into the bliss of “Her” Song …
And Now the News…
“The point of a dream isn’t the dream itself, but what you do with it.” – Tera, mulling over a cup of tea, as she is wont to do.
If there was such a thing as a building whose architecture was ‘erotic’, then the sliver spire that rose into the sky across town from the news network building could be called that in many ways. It was said, by some who claimed to know, that the shape was inspired by a woman whom the architect had known as a youth. And, if one looked very carefully, there were hints to be seen: a curve here that might be an echo of a thigh; another there that could well be the curving of a waist; an arc of light elsewhere that illuminated the silhouette of a shapely rear, while another hinted at the telling arch of a woman in the midst of passion.
All of these things however, were not so much seen as they were felt by those that regarded the place. For those that dwelled in the neighbourhood about, the building was a source of light among them. There was no shadow falling anywhere. Instead, there seemed to be a warmth, almost a compassion that encompassed the space surrounding it.
Some called the building … ‘Lady.’
To those that simply looked upon it as a place, the spire held a single group whose purpose was made clear to any that asked: they existed to build dreams. Some thought that quaint, almost child-like in form. However, few could argue with the point. The group had done, and continued to do, much good for many.
One might expect that such a place would, considering the seeming wealth and power of the occupants, have the trappings of that wealth ostentatiously displayed. One must understand, however, that flaunting such things only builds a wall, a barrier. Not here: surrounding the base of the spire was a wide park, open to all. And among all of the lives and life enjoying the space were two women making their way to the entrance.
Of the two, the one with a long ponytail, was the more animated as they went on their way. The other, wearing dark sunglasses, was much less so. Every so often, Miss Ponytail would whisper something into the other’s ear. Someone passing close by at the moment would hear the unmistakable moan of a women on the cusp of orgasm, of desiring, wanting, needing that last little push over the edge.
Someone looking at the right moment, in the split second when it mattered, might see something more, something that only happened when the two passed through a beam of light that cascaded from the spire to the paths below. For an instant, one might see—but it couldn’t be, of course—the two women naked; the blonde standing over the other, legs parted; the one in sunglasses on her knees, her lips almost but not quite touching the other, looking up, with a pleading expression; the hands of the ponytailed one holding her away, controlling her. Then the moment would pass, the two women continuing on their way.
As they continued, here and here they were approached by others, who greeted the one called Song. Some displayed reverence in seeing her, talking to her; others, a desire to submit to her, to fall into the song she spun from her sweet, pink lips. A few realized that submission as they stood near Song, saying not a word, their quizzical expression met by a simple answer from Song before they continued on their way.
The answer: “She calls.”
Throughout all of this, Paige only heard the song: how it told of her place, where she belonged. The honey-sweet submission had been poured into her while they descended in the elevator, Song’s fingers playing upon Paige’s clit, her folds. With each touch, Paige wanted, needed, was willing to agree to anything so that she could come over the edge and have the screaming release that Song’s voice and touch promised her. She came there, was so close to passing over, but the song told her that only one was to give her what she needed now, what held her mind and removed all thought of concern, of resistance, of fear. But she had to obey the singer and the song.
Paige could not care that she was bare under her dress. She could not bring herself to be concerned at the feeling of lips sucking on her nipples, a tongue licking her folds, lips kissing her own. She was entranced, enthralled. Nothing else mattered but the song that played in her mind.
They passed through the lobby of the spire, the whirlwind of other souls around them, but they were not part of it. The elevators awaited, the ones that led to the floors where those expecting normality would be taken, or be drawn to. At the end of the lobby, well past all the rest, stood two red doors. As the pair approached, those doors slid open without a sound, soon closing behind them both. Song smiled as the doors closed and shivered in the presence that she was forever part of. She looked upwards, seeming to await an answer. Then the elevator started to rise and she turned her attention to Paige once more.
Song reached out and took the dark glasses away from Paige, revealing her glazed-over eyes and the slightly vacant expression there. Paige didn’t think so much as accept the song as the words changed within her, as the new words told her what she should do. The sunglasses fell to the green carpet below them without a sound, already forgotten by Paige just as the song instructed. She watched as Song untied a thin green ribbon from around her shapely neck, telling Paige this was right as the dress fell away from Song. Paige’s heart fluttered, her sex moistened further—a trickle of arousal moving along her thighs, making them slick—her dress damped, all without her caring, for the song made it so.
Song stepped closer, completely bare. She pressed herself against Paige, her hands wrapping around and behind. There was a moment, then Song moved away and Paige felt, but did not care, her own dress falling from her shoulders and pooling around her heels.
The two women looked at each other, Song now in silver heels, a thin silver collar resting about the nape of her neck—neither of which had been there a moment before. Paige whimpered as the song told her that Song was … Hers. The song told Paige she was not so.
Paige’s pussy gushed at the need to be Hers as well now. The song told her she needed that, wanted it, would do anything to get that. Song cupped Paige’s sex with her fingers, stroking there lightly as she hummed: “Obey.”
The word wrapped into the song, and Paige fell to her knees in submission to Song. She looked up now at Song, who held a black collar by one finger.
Paige arched her neck, desiring the collar, needing it, whining for the feel of it resting upon her. Song buckled it snugly, the smell of the leather drifting into Paige’s senses. Paige wore only the collar now, nothing more. She was not permitted, was not worthy of being more than a thrall to Her will.
There was a soft tone and the elevators doors opened. Song turned and walked from the elevator, leaving Paige there on her knees. As she waited, the song changed again. Thralls did not think, did not need to. Thralls obeyed. They needed to obey. It was their purpose to obey. The slickness between Thrall’s thighs was wonderful as she accepted the song’s truth within herself.
The single word brought pleasure: A command! She must obey! Thrall—for she was no longer Paige—stood, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes towards the floor, and meekly moved to follow.
The space beyond the elevator was not what one might expect, not the hustle and bustle of an office, but instead something completely inexplicable.
It was a temple: red marble floors and walls, burning braziers along the walls lighting the passageway. Thrall followed the sound of Song’s heels as they danced along the floors, the sound echoing all around her. The sounds of pleasures came to Thrall, she quivered in each one as the song told her that thralls were rewarded for obeying, for serving, for being … Hers.
If she could have, Thrall would have plunged her fingers into her pussy, brought herself to orgasm and screamed out her submission in Her name. But the song did not allow this. The command did not allow.
Still, the song promised. The promise alone was what Thrall now had burning within her.
The hallway opened into a room. Thrall only saw the red floor below her. But the gasp from Song, the whispered ‘Goddess,’ made her fall to her knees. She needed to display her submission to Her. The power She had over Thrall.
Thrall listened as Song walked away, the whisper of Song’s voice, then she heard Her voice for the first time—“My Song”—and she nearly fell over as the heat in her sex became close to overwhelming.
“My Song:” two words, spoken with passion and love, but also the command of the one called Goddess that held Song in Her sway.
Thrall wanted to beg for that pleasure, to hear Goddess say: “My Thrall.” But she remained, head bowed down, the song within her commanding her to wait for Her. She listened as Song mewled in pleasure, crying out as she lost herself in Her touch, her power. Thrall’s skin flushed as she heard Song scream out in joy.
Then She spoke, a thrill not expected: “Thrall.”
Thrall who was once Paige gasped as she was addressed, moaning, submitting to the command as she felt a tongue licking, a hand cupping, and her mind melting. She lost her poise, her eyes now looking towards Her. Thrall’s clit throbbed as she watched them entwined, eyes of green piercing into Thrall’s soul from afar along with eyes of sparkling blue. The song told her she was being judged.
The answer She gave made her cry out in despair …
“You are not worthy.”
Like a puppet with its strings cut, she fell over, legs and arms akimbo, mind stilled, thoughts paused.
There was silence for a time. Then She spoke … “There is nothing good within, dearest Song.”
“But … Goddess … the dream is there, somewhere.”
“She turned herself away from the dream a long time ago.”
“I … do not know …”
“Please, teach her to find it again.”
There was a longer moment now before the answer came …
And Now the News…
Life is always at some turning point, whether we know it or not. – As said by Tera to a visitor to the Realm whose way was lost and who sought to find it again …
She awoke with a startle, unsure of what was real and what was not. She had a flash of memory of hiding herself away, of not allowing herself to feel: changing herself for others, taking their advice, doing things that she could never, would never do. But in all of the thoughts there was a truth she couldn’t shake away: she had given away one important thing for something not so. It bothered her that she did so. But she couldn’t place what it was.
A light hand touched her back, and her memories solidified as she realized where she was. Turning over she looked into a pair of blue-grey eyes and smiled.
“Hey. Did you sleep okay?”
She sighed as she snuggled closer, giggling a bit as she felt fingers teasing over her thighs: “Okay. Good enough.”
“Liar. You were not asleep at all. You kept pushing me away all night.”
A kiss shared, just a little nibbling of lips, then a deeper, more lustful kiss: tongues entwining, mewls of pleasure being shared between them both. She pecked her lover’s lips and whispered: “I’m sorry, was having nightmares, I guess.”
“You want to talk about them?”
She shook her head, blonde hair moving in waves around her as she did so: “No, I’m okay … stupid dreams, not worth talking about.”
“Uh-huh. What’s eating at you?”
She rolled away from her lover, looking up at the ceiling: “Important day … got a job interview. You have one, too, don’t you?”
Her lover smiled: “You know, you should come along, too. She’s really nice, and I think it’s going to be something special.”
She scrunched up her nose: “How do you know?”
A giggle in response: “Simple: I know I’ll be happy.”
“Not that simple.”
“Yes, it is.”
She rolled out of bed, looking over her shoulder and smiling: “Sure.”
Later, she was standing in line at the corner coffee shop, waiting her turn to call out a long complicated order for coffee, because that’s what everyone did, and, of course, she needed to fit in. But why did that bother her so much? She needed to make a mark, to leave an impression, and being one of them was the best way to do that.
Brushing a bit of lint from her business attire, she went over in her mind again what she would say, how she would approach the interviewer, and, most of all, attempt to influence their decision. She hated job interviews, and it showed. This time, she’d show them. It was her future and she needed to make it happen. If that meant burning bridges and leaving her past behind, then that was what she would do. Her thoughts were swirling around that conviction when she heard a voice behind her: “You know, you should be on television.”
She turned to look at the person that spoke those words and after a moment replied: “Do I know you?”
A grin in response: “Would be surprised if you didn’t. But that’s not important!”
It was her turn to order, which she did, then turned back around: “Are you trying to pick me up?”
“Hell no. You aren’t my type. But you are the type that could go far!”
She didn’t know how to take that. She was both incensed and, at the same time, aware of an opening to get what she wanted: “How far?”
“Come with me, let’s talk about what you are looking for. Won’t take much of your time.”
“I have other plans.”
Their voice was strongly compelling: “You did. But now you really want to see what we have to offer … don’t you?”
She took the coffee cup: “Alright. I’m open to suggestions.”
The reply was a little bit ominous: “I’m sure you are. In fact, I’m sure you’ll like every suggestion I have!”
As she left the coffee shop, her eyes flickered across a stunningly beautiful brunette sitting at a table nearby and looking at her. She paused in mid-stride, the hand holding the coffee cup crushing it slightly. She saw, sitting next to the brunette, a familiar presence. The two were talking. She felt a twinge of need. She wanted to explain, to tell this woman that she made a choice, the right one. Or was it?
She felt a need, a want, a desire to walk over to her. To speak with her, to listen, to learn. She turned slightly to go that way, but she felt a hand pushing against the middle of her back: “Let’s go. The board will want to meet with you and start putting plans in motion. You are going to be a star!”
As she passed through the doors, she startled, unsure of what was real and what was not. She had a flash of memory of being entwined in the arms of others, of being wanted, desired, cherished, of being part of a greater whole, of having a purpose, of worshipping, becoming, transforming, of being held, of looking to a pair of grey-blue eyes and crying out in bliss.
She stumbled, falling, the world fading from the everyday into what the song told her was real. She laid there, waiting, for the longest time. She wept for the other, the one that never knew of the song, never knew of being wanted. She shivered, thinking of what the other had lost in never becoming.
The loss …
A pair of so-green eyes regarded her: “Thrall.”
She quickly moved to the proper place, just as the song told. Back arched, legs parted slightly, hands laced together over her sex as she looked downwards. She was not worthy. Her clit thrummed, the yearning within begging her to submit to whatever was asked, to become … Hers.
A blink, her eyes cleared, and she startled. “What? Who? How?” In a panic, she moved to cover her nakedness. But then the song returned, smoothed over her concerns and worries. This was right, of course: the song told her so. Her thoughts turned towards the others in the room. The one called Song, who gazed with devotion. The one called Need, who knelt to Her side. There was a thought, a whisper that something was familiar—was right—about this.
The way her pussy quivered when She spoke just added to that belief within her: “The dream is there for you, Paige, if you desire.”
She wetted her lips: “I am not worthy.”
“At this moment, you are not. But you can be.”
She looked up, seeing a pair of so-green eyes considering her.
“I have news for you.” Delight that made her thighs slick from Her words: “One saw you as worthy.”
Paige cried out in need, holding onto the truth she had been told, trying to understand. She whimpered: “Please … who?”
“You know the answer.”
Paige fell onto her side, crying out as she realized who it was and what she had lost.
Paige then heard Her walk across the room. Then she felt Her hand against her bare shoulder. Then Paige gasped in ecstasy as she was held. Was this how they all felt? The thought made her sob quietly, thinking of everything she had given up for what she had. The words came; she couldn’t stop them: “I’m sorry.”
She replied: “I know. I know better now. So do you. Shall we return what is yours?”
Paige didn’t speak, only shaking her head in agreement as she was held, crying herself to sleep once more.
And Now the News…
The past is part of us. The present is fleeting. Both lead to the future.—As said by Tera to a lost soul in search of meaning to certain choices …
Paige lay upon soft, golden sheets, her form curled up beneath and among them. Her sleep was fitful, haunted, uneven. From time to time, a sound escaped her, a moment of loss, of calling out …
…of the need within.
She awoke to find herself no longer in the temple, not in Her presence. Her thoughts were slightly jumbled. A mixture of Thrall, who ached to return, to kneel, to keen and be devoted, and Paige, who was confused, lost, wanting to understand why. Raising herself from the bed, the sheets held against her, she looked about to see she was in a comfortable room, the space inviting, loved, cared for. A thought intruded, one of her being trapped, held against her will.
She looked for the stone walls, the bindings that were used to hold her. She glanced towards the door, knowing it was locked, there was no escape until she had become what they wanted her to be. But there were no such walls. There was no door trapping her. A memory came, a memory of Her voice explaining that Thrall could leave if she wished; the choice was hers.
Pulling the sheet away, Paige looked upon herself. The only thing she wore was that black collar. There was no escape in the nude from this place. At the same time, another part of her relished the thought of padding through the temple, bare to all, submitting to Her in all things and ways.
The sound of clothes rustling drew her attention to the foot of the bed, where she saw a figure only glimpsed before. Thrall recognized her as Need. Paige didn’t know her, at least she didn’t recall her well. Need knelt nearby, as She had asked of her. To be present when Thrall awoke, to be the hand to guide Paige, to give whatever was asked of her. Need shivered slightly, wetting her lips and allowing the softest of mewls in her want.
She was the embodiment of need, of want, of desire. Thrall shivered, knowing that Need was there for her and her alone. Paige, however, didn’t see Need: she saw a woman that was achingly familiar; but her own thoughts were slippery, unclear, troubled as she tried to remember.
Purple eyes glinted in the light, catching Paige’s and Thrall’s attention long before the moan and tremble from Need’s voice poured from her lips and over the sheets: “Hello.” It was a simple word, but laced with passion, with aching need. For Paige, it was like having her clit licked. For Thrall, it was enough to make her pussy drip and her legs part slightly, the offer of servitude on the edge of her lips before Paige took control once more.
“Who are you?”
“I am Her Need.”
“No, who are you?”
The purple eyes were captivating: “Need.”
Paige shivered, something deep inside fluttering at the word, at the thought of how completely fulfilled Need was in this moment. “Why are you here?”
The moan sent a thrill along Paige’s spine as Need whispered her desires: “You.”
Paige thought about this, still looking at the woman with purple eyes, still so intently focused upon her. She wondered about why purple eyes, why purple hair, why was she wearing a purple collar.
Thrall whispered the answer: “She knows.”
Paige shook herself from the stupor she was in and asked: “Where am I?”
“In our place.”
Paige was confused, Thrall soothed the worries, spreading a warm calm feeling over Paige’s thoughts: “Ours.”
She gathered the sheets around her and rose from the bed, Need remaining where she was, her eyes never leaving Paige as she moved about the room. She looked out into the hallway, seeing the passage leading off towards what seemed to be an elevator in the distance. No guards, no threat of punishment, nothing to stop her from leaving if it was what she wished.
Thrall guided Paige’s fingers to play upon her folds, a whisper of thought merging with Paige’s own.
“… I can leave. Escape. Expose this place …”
“… You can stay. Remain. Be part of this place …”
“… We can stay for Need and be …”
Paige didn’t notice how her thoughts had shifted, how her focus had moved from thoughts of resisting and escaping to thoughts of the one called “Need.” She didn’t really notice when the sheet fell from her fingers and pooled on the floor about her. She didn’t think it was strange that she began to play her fingers over her skin, cupping her mound, licking her lips. She remembered the taste of another on her lips, the desire for her long hidden away. She felt the ache again, long trapped beneath the role she had been made to embrace.
It was Her Need.
“I am Need.”
Paige made her way to Need, pausing, then kneeling with her. She looked into those purple eyes in wonder. Thrall ached for them to touch, ached for Need.
Need’s purple-tipped fingers touched Thrall. Paige felt them on her cheek … familiar, so familiar that her clit thrummed at the touch. A memory came, mixed with Thrall, and then Need moved closer, her lips surrounding and then sucking. Paige remembered this, had a recollection of doing this, of how it made them cry out in pleasure, how thrilled she was to be able to do this for her. She was lost in the moment and didn’t realize that Need had guided her to recline, to part her legs and offer herself to Need. Thrall was hot and wet, and whispered for Paige to give herself to Need. Paige closed her eyes, biting her lip as Need began to lick along the inside of one thigh, moving slowly higher, her fingertips just ahead of her tongue: “Oh … fuck … yessss … please … yesss …”
The feeling overcame Paige, she falling into Thrall, the two becoming one in the moment when Need’s supple tongue and lips pleasured her needy clit, her fingers parting her folds and moving in and out of her slick, wet, hungry pussy.
As Need pleasured them, Paige and Thrall shared a memory: a shower, being pressed against the tiled walls, blue-green eyes sparkling in need, a voice begging to be allowed, a nod, then gasping in surprise as her lover sucked on her nipples, kissing around her navel, and then, still holding her against the shower wall as the water sprayed about them both, cupping her ass, fingernails raking her skin. Next came the scream from her lips as that tongue—oh, Goddess, she had the longest tongue—dove into her cleft, flexing, tasting, purring into her cunt making her cry out in surprise once more. Paige was cumming, so hard, so long, sliding slowly down the wall until she was wrapped in her lover’s arms as the warm rain of the shower drizzled over them both. Her trembling hand reaching out, cupping the chin of her lover lightly: “Only you.”
The answer was a soft smile: “It’s nice to be needed.”
Paige wept, the tears mixing in the water from the shower around them: “I …”
The memory came to a close as reality returned in the rush of an orgasm, one Paige hadn’t felt since that day. She screamed until she was unable to breathe, her hands twisted into Need’s hair, holding her, where Need worshipped her. The memories, long suppressed, trapped, refused to her because of the choice she had made, flooded back in. Paige and Thrall cried out at the unfairness of it all, of what she had lost. She thought of how she had been changed, how she was no longer the woman that once had loved and been loved. A deal had been struck, and she had paid for it with her very soul.
Need’s tongue slithered away, licking Paige-Thrall’s folds, her clit. She left a kiss on the inside of each thigh. Paige was in a stupor as Need rose herself, crawled between Paige’s legs and drew closer. She couldn’t look away from those purple eyes, the shine of her wetness on Need’s lips and chin. Then, just as their nipples rubbed deliciously, Need hovering over her, eyes looking into eyes, Paige saw … “It’s … you.”
“I am your Need.”
From nearby, Paige heard Song’s voice, the song returning once more, breaking the barriers between Paige and Thrall, merging them, blending them into one.
Paige’s eyes turned as black as the collar she wore. Her hair turned the deepest of black. A wave passed over her skin, the changes made vanishing away. They were not part of being Hers. They were unneeded.
She had, in her arms, what she needed.
The three spoke, their voices becoming wanton, aching, submissive. Each of their beings calling out their own truths.
Song pure in bliss, the first to know: “I am Her Song.”
Need purred in heat: “I am Her Need.”
Paige felt the last of what was empty out of her mind and soul, the truth coming in ecstasy: “I am Her Thrall.”
The three souls cried out in pleasure, crying out their singular truth: “We are Hers.”
TO BE CONTINUED