Having modelled the new black bra and panties, black garter belt and stockings, on Monday evening for an appreciative Gary, Jillian knew that all of it was surprisingly comfortable. The bra fit better than any of her regular ones, and if it gave her a bit more lift and more dramatic cleavage than she’d tended to want in the past, well, so be it. And Flair was right about mundanities like going to the bathroom actually being simpler with the stockings than with pantyhose. Probably it was even healthier, letting everything breathe more easily. The panties over the garter belt certainly covered less ground.
So, on Tuesday, she wore the white version to work, with neutral-coloured stockings.
It gave her a faint naughty thrill, knowing what she was wearing under her usual drab clothes and that no one knew.
I won’t feel bad about feeling good, she heard in a whisper any time she began to wonder whether she was out of line.
On her way home after work, she stopped by the same shop and bought two more of the bras, one soft rosy pink and one red, with panties to match, along with extra panties and enough stockings to make sure she wouldn’t have a crisis when they developed a run. As an afterthought, she bought garter belts in pink and red, to make sure she matched. When she got home, she shoved all her pantyhose into a plastic bag and tossed it into a box.
Wednesday, it was the red set, with black stockings, which were all right with a black skirt. She found herself wishing she had a red blouse, and thinking wistfully of the red shoes she’d seen at the mall. She settled for a pastel violet blouse, sufficiently opaque that nothing showed through it. Sometimes at work she remembered and smiled to herself, but it felt so natural that it no longer distracted her at odd moments.
After work, she made dinner for herself and Gary, and changed into a white summer dress that she typically only felt brave enough to wear around home. The thin material allowed a distinct hint of the red beneath to show. She didn’t wear bright red lipstick often, but she did have some, and she darkened her eyeliner to make it bolder. Fleetingly, she wished for a mirror with a fae on the other side. She redid her short nails red while she was waiting.
She wasn’t sure what he’d think of her plan for tonight, but she was feeling wild and horny, and badly wanted to reground her sex life in her real-life relationship with her boyfriend. Even if he did work a lot. She only hoped he didn’t cancel at the last minute, especially considering that it was so soon after the last night they’d had.
Jillian wondered whether she’d actually see more of him once he got the promotion he wanted so badly. She hoped so. They’d been together for most of a year, though given earlier relationships, she was reluctant to rush moving in together, and he’d accepted that. Probably she loved him. She enjoyed being with him, certainly, and wanted him to be happy and successful. Edging up on forty, that was probably more conducive to a stable relationship than fireworks and sonnets. He’d been working so much over the past couple of months, promising that it would stop any day now and he could redirect his attention and energy back to her, that at moments she felt single again. It was good having the time to spend with Min and by herself, but wasn’t she also supposed to spend time on what was socially considered the primary relationship in her life?
Then she heard the door and banished those thoughts in favour of greeting him with a smile and a kiss.
Gary paused long enough in telling her in detail about work to compliment her on the meal. He stopped talking about work once they moved on to dessert, at least…
“Do something for me,” Jillian murmured, pinning him on his back on the bed, then starting to work her way down the front of his shirt. Too much clothing in the way. Or at least, too much of the wrong clothing.
“Sure, babe. What?”
“I left a couple of scarves at the head of the bed. Tie my wrists to the headboard so I’m all yours, and do whatever you want with me. Don’t worry about what I want, just pretend I’m a toy to play with. The world’s most realistic doll.”
“Seriously?”
“What, you don’t want to?”
“Oh, fuck, yeah! I just didn’t think you were into that.”
She jerked his shirt out, unbuckled his belt, and unbuttoned his pants. Somewhere under all this damned clothing… she finally found what she wanted, already half-hard. She wrapped her hand around it, and ran her tongue slowly along the underside from as near the base as she could reach all the way to the tip. “I want this in me. It doesn’t matter how much noise we make, I’m only in this place another week and a half. Tie me down and fuck me so hard I can’t walk.”
The immediate response felt distinctly like a compliment.
She tried her best to stay focused entirely in her own body and what her senses were experiencing, to just let go of everything else—work, moving, her mother.
She failed.
Even with her wrists secured to the headboard, making her feel deliciously vulnerable… even with Gary taking her at her word and pounding into her with gratifying enthusiasm, while she arched towards him encouragingly and whimpered happily… even then, other things intruded. How should she react to make sure he knew he was doing the right thing, and to keep him from being disappointed and refusing to ever do this again? Was he really this enthusiastic, or was he exaggerating it for her sake? Would the scarves and the bed hold, and were the knots safe, was she losing any blood flow? Had she put everything away from supper? Had she turned her phone off?
Scrabbling wildly for a way to shut it all out, she reached back to the closest she’d ever come to being utterly in the moment. She could remember the pleasant satyr musk, the stroking hands, the voice purring in her ear. It’s okay to feel sexy. Just let yourself feel good and stop getting tangled in other stuff.
He really was being kind, she thought. I could have kept living in my head all night, and it would have been hell. He… helped me? made me?… change focus. Why can’t I do it now, when I want to so badly, with the man I love?
The closest she could get was, rather guiltily, to indulge herself in memories of being Jewel. That had a vividness that helped to mute the rest. Fretting over the source and what it meant could wait.
She didn’t typically orgasm from intercourse, and suspected that some women who claimed to were lying to themselves or others, but despite her wandering mind, she was fiercely turned on, and his stroking fingers had an easier time than usual in getting her over the brink.
“Want me to untie you now?”
“Depends. Are you done for the night? I’m fine if you want to leave me here while you take a break, then come back and play with me again.” It felt so good, being restrained, that had she been able to reach, she would have had a hard time keeping her hands off herself. Staying like this for a while, waiting for him to want her again, unable to do anything about her own arousal and at his mercy, was a tantalizing thought.
He sighed. “Sorry, babe. Up too early all this week. Much as I’d love to take you up on that, it just isn’t going to happen.”
Trying not to feel disappointed, she held still while he untied her, then she snuggled against him. “I wish we had more time together.”
“It won’t always be like this. Things’ll settle down. You’re pretty awesome motivation to find that whole work-life balance thing. That promotion comes with a raise. I know you’re bored at work. If I get it, maybe we can get a nice place together, and you can find a job you like better, wouldn’t matter so much how it pays. Or cut your hours way back, or something.”
“Not sure I’m cut out for being a housewife,” she laughed.
How about a pet?
Hell, no!
He chuckled and gave her a quick squeeze. “Y’know, I never expected to see you in sexy underwear. Definitely didn’t expect you to suggest things like tying you up. Have I been missing out on something?”
“Mm, just feeling a bit adventurous lately. Wanting to experiment more. I’m open to ideas.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Thursday night, the question of why she found it impossible to let go still lingering in her mind and making her mood more than a bit gloomy, she looked around her apartment. She’d seen two more apartments on the way home from work, one of them hopeless, the other promising but someone else had seen it first and she’d have to wait to learn whether she could have it; now she was home and needed to do something to distract herself so she could relax. Flair would be coming Saturday morning to help with more packing, so she might as well wait on that.
Hm. Well, why not?
She stripped off her navy skirt and white blouse, and picked up one of the lightweight stretchy knit spaghetti-strapped tops Flair had assured her would work well under a corset while still looking good. Since she was in pink bra and panties, she chose one of the white tops and pulled it on.
The corset took her a moment. She loosened the laces at the back as much as possible, wrapped it around herself, and hooked five extremely simple clasps on the front with only a brief struggle. Even without tightening it, it helped flatten her stomach and draw in her waist. She fumbled behind her to find the right loops in the centre of the corset, and began to carefully pull them tighter, trying to keep it even, pausing to tug the shirt down smoothly so it wouldn’t bunch up.
Flair had warned her to go easy at first and let her body work up to it, otherwise she’d have some very uncomfortable moments. She drew it to a point where she could feel it constrict but not enough for discomfort, and tied it into a bow.
That felt good.
She positioned herself in front of her mirror, and smiled. It was much less extreme than the one she’d had to wear under her maid uniform, but it did enhance her shape rather pleasantly.
Just as an experiment, she tried the slinky deep-blue dress over it, and her eyes widened. She wouldn’t have believed it without seeing it, how much of a difference it made or how good it looked. She dug out her highest heels, black strappy ones that were still less high than she’d worn that night, and put them on.
Nikandros was right, higher heels did make her legs look long and sexy.
She grabbed the pink toy from the drawer and sprawled across the bed with it, urging it to fuck her hard.
She did her best to keep her imagination focused on being tied up with Gary over her, and pretend that it was him inside her, but somehow, the fantasy kept blurring. When she climaxed the first time, more strongly than the previous night, she was being pounded mercilessly by a randy and appreciative satyr, and she was frozen into a statue and had absolutely no say in what happened. Flair said that being frozen didn’t interfere with thought or sensation, that if anything, senses could start to gradually feel more acute after a while with less distraction.
She left the corset and shoes and dress on while she made her supper, checked her phone messages and called her mother, and had two more blissful orgasms. After a couple of hours, her abdominal muscles complained, so she gave in, but she resolved to put Flair’s advice into practice. It couldn’t hurt, getting used to it, right?
* * *
Friday, she wore the black set, planning to go to Gary’s from work. When he called to apologize for having to stay at work and suggesting they cancel altogether, she accepted that, refusing to get annoyed or to admit to her own disappointment. After all, it had probably been unrealistic to hope for three nights all in one week, considering his current schedule.
She visited the mall on the way home, and found that the shoe store still had a very few pairs of the red snakeskin-textured high heels she’d seen—and one pair were, by some miracle, a perfect fit.
She went home and laced on the black corset over the black top, slightly tighter than the previous day, so she could feel the pressure just short of discomfort. To her delight, she could readily button and zip a pair of denim cutoffs so old and tattered they were barely decent and so short her garter straps showed, even though that was always a dicey proposition without the corset’s help. Over the corset she knotted a short-sleeved white blouse at her waist, fastening a couple of buttons for support but making sure her cleavage showed. She turned her lips red, lined her eyes more darkly, added mascara and eye shadow, and swapped her gold and crystal stud earrings for her largest hoops. With the new red heels on, the straps buckled snugly around her ankles, she contemplated her reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom.
Too bad there’s no one to see that. Or take advantage of it. Your loss, Gary.
She retrieved her phone and made several attempts at selfies, not at all sure whether she’d send him one or not—that seemed rather childish, really, and he’d be justified if he got annoyed by it. That none of the pictures came out satisfactory rescued her from the temptation, but she did save two of them, not entirely sure why.
Putting supper on and doing the dishes were ordinary enough tasks, but they didn’t feel ordinary, dressed like this. She had to think a bit more about what she was doing, between the heels affecting her stride and the corset affecting her posture and just the general need not to mess up her clothes—but then, the awareness never entirely left her mind.
I won’t feel bad about feeling sexy.
And oh god do I ever.
Tomorrow, she’d have breakfast with Min and Flair, and the latter would come home with her to help her resume packing. Flair didn’t bog down in the sheer overwhelming size of the task, just tackled the whole project with energy and cheer that made it far easier for Jillian to do her own share. And Flair was endlessly full of stories about her cats, about Maggie who had lived with her and Min, about her own past and things she’d seen—though she insisted that talking about Min’s fae friends and their current human friends would be too much like gossip.
Tonight… well, she could go through apartment listings again, look for any new ones to contact and set up viewings. There was a load of laundry to do, too, she could get that done and out of the way.
The laundry room was in the basement, two flights of stairs down. She probably should have thought of that before giving in to the impulse to dress up. She certainly couldn’t leave her apartment dressed this way. The laundry would have to wait.
Or would it?
She rummaged in her closet for a knee-length cardigan, a soft lightweight knit, and pulled it on, tying the belt. Since it was a textured black and grey, it didn’t draw undue attention to her black stockings. The red shoes were very visible, and there was the makeup to consider, but that wasn’t such a big deal, right? It was Friday. For all her neighbours knew, she was going out later. They didn’t have to know what she was really doing. Or wearing. Or thinking.
Feeling absolutely outrageous, she checked for any laundry that hadn’t made it to the basket, including today’s work clothes, and gathered up laundry soap and change and keys. The laundry room was usually deserted; she found herself half hoping she’d run into someone, half praying she’d get away with it without that. Going down stairs in any high heels, let alone as high as these, was always a hard thing to do gracefully, and she was sharply aware of the corset wrapped around her while she was bending and leaning to load the washer. Going back up the stairs was easier, physically. She knew her panties were wet by the time she got back into her own apartment. And her clothes were still down there, she’d have to make a second trip to put them in the dryer, then a third to retrieve them.
Should she change to something more modest?
It’s okay to feel sexy.
It’s okay to like people looking at me.
Oh, would you just go away like you’re supposed to?
She dropped her sweater by the door, set a timer on her phone for the washer, checked on supper, and made a dash—such as it was in heels—for the bedroom and the pink toy.
If she pulled her shorts back up, she discovered, they kept it securely inside, and she could hook her hands under the headboard and pretend she was restrained there while the toy responded to her increasingly breathless commands. It was hard to keep herself from slipping a hand down her shorts and making herself climax, but she struggled with it, trying to make herself wait just a moment longer. She’d endured hours of high arousal, this wasn’t so long, and it would be worth it.
When the timer dinged, she hadn’t yet lost control, her hands were still under the headboard. She told the toy to stop, and laid still, panting. She needed to take it out, put it somewhere, go downstairs, and give it a cleaning when she got back.
Or…
She got up and walked around the room, the toy still nestled inside.
It changed her gait, with her pelvic muscles clenched tightly around it. Two flights of stairs were going to be interesting, to say the least, and once she was out of her apartment, she was stuck with it until she got back inside, no matter what. But she was pretty sure she could make it to the laundry room and back with the toy still in place. And it felt good.
On impulse, she reached down to touch it and said, because it was the sort of phrasing it insisted on, “I want you to stay like that, filling me up and keeping me horny and ready, while I do what I have to before we can get back to the fun stuff.”
She wasn’t sure exactly what it did, but it writhed a bit and then felt different. It definitely made her feel full—had the end of it mushroomed further somehow, or curved, to make it lock in place behind bone?
If it could do that, there was no end of places she could go with it tucked secretly inside, instantly responsive to her commands.
Trembling a bit with excitement and apprehension and arousal, she pulled her long cardigan back on, took her keys and a dryer sheet and change, and started downstairs.
A floor and a half down, she had to pass the glass security door to the outside world. On the other side of it, a young man in maybe his early twenties had an insulated Chinese food delivery bag and the other hand on the intercom. His eyes tracked her with interest.
Mischievously, Jillian smiled at him and went on her way. Nothing much showed, right? Shoes and makeup or not, the cardigan covered her clothes, and he had no way to know about the toy inside. But something had caught his eye.
In the laundry room, she leaned against the table, light-headed, and so wet that she wondered how well the toy could stay with no friction and how long before it was visible as wet marks on her jeans.
It’s okay to feel sexy.
It’s okay for others to know you feel sexy.
Oh god, I wish Gary wasn’t working. Maybe I can go to his office. I’ll give him a blow job in the bathroom, dressed like this, down on my knees where someone could walk in, all with this toy throbbing inside me.
No. No no no no no no. Already taking a chance. Not doing THAT!
She collected herself and swapped her laundry over to the dryer, leaving out a few things that would be damaged by the heat and were best hung up still damp.
Going up stairs with the toy inside made it shift and jiggle much more than down had done. She was breathless and trembling before she got halfway, but she got all the way to her apartment, fumbled the key into the lock, and staggered inside. With the door closed, she draped the wet clothes over the chair, writhed out of the cardigan that felt suddenly far too heavy and hot, and leaned against the wall, eyes closed, waiting for her pulse to slow down.
‘Aroused’ might not be quite an adequate word, she reflected dizzily. It was really a shame Gary wasn’t around.
But if he hadn’t cancelled for tonight, if he were here… she would have suggested he tie her up again, though she remained unsure how much was genuine enthusiasm on his part and how much was trying to please her. That would have felt wonderful, but would she have been as turned on as she was right now?
She banished those thoughts. She thoroughly enjoyed sex with Gary, and she’d eventually be able to fix her straying libido back where it belonged, with him, especially once he was working less. She was still suffering some side-effects from her bargain, and she’d be able to get that out of her system in time. Playing alone would only help with that. Right?
Moving carefully, she visited the kitchen to check on supper, then set her phone timer for the dryer to be finished and returned to pick up the wet clothes to hang up.
She had longer this time. Once she dealt with her clothes, she checked her reflection to make sure nothing had gone awry, then sprawled on the bed again, hands under the headboard.
If only she had someone here who could take control for real, instead of purely her own fantasies…
Maybe it was the seam of her jean shorts putting pressure in the right place while she was writhing madly in response to what the toy was doing, but something pushed her over the edge into the most mind-numbing orgasm she’d had since Min’s party—hands-free, at that. She might have cried out, she wasn’t sure; the toy, undaunted, continued its thrusting as though nothing had happened, and it took her an endless moment to regain both breath and presence of mind to tell it to stop.
She was still drifting contentedly in the aftermath when her phone beeped to remind her to check on supper. Only the thought of burning it, possibly triggering a fire alarm, was enough to drag her into motion, but the scent she could faintly pick up suggested that it was a serious risk. The toy shifted inside; she gasped, but if she could smell supper starting to overcook, she really didn’t have time right now to mess around with removing it. So, it remained in place while she stumbled to the kitchen, muttering imprecations at her shoes for her slightly erratic balance, but she dared not take the time to deal with them either. Hastily, she retrieved her meal from the oven. Possibly a little later than ideal, but shepherd’s pie was hard to truly kill, and all in all, it was a fair trade.
Oh, I cannot be getting turned on all over again… I just can’t.
But now that she was up and active, the dormant toy was reminding her of its presence simply by its pressure inside, and it was impossible to forget how she was dressed, and her body remembered how it had felt not long ago. She licked dry lips and got herself a glass of juice. While she was leaning against the counter to drink it, she realized that she was squeezing around the toy, and that it was a very pleasant sensation, somehow both comforting and stimulating at once.
How long could she leave it there, really? Why was her body not complaining about the intruder in the wake of an orgasm and demanding that it be removed? Somehow, her body simply seemed to accept and welcome it. Fae magic, right? It must be something to do with fae magic.
Acutely aware of the toy, of the sway of her hips in her heels, of the clenching of her own muscles around the pink thing trapped deep inside under her very tight shorts and the wetness on her upper inner thighs that wasn’t sweat, she set down her glass and strode through the kitchen to the living room for her phone. Unsure about her ability to talk coherently, she texted Min.
«That toy, dangerous ever?»
She hoped Min could figure out what she meant.
Min replied so quickly that she must have started typing immediately.
«I would not have let Nik give it to you if it were dangerous. It has safeguards and will go inert under some conditions no matter what you command it to do.»
Jillian looked at that for a long moment, reading it multiple times before she was sure she understood it and could reply.
«Good. Is scary addictive. Keep worrying I’ll make the wrong wish.»
«It’s meant as a safe way to explore and experiment. Nik is very into people feeling safe. It obviously can’t protect you from being arrested if you use it visibly in public. But it will stop if it senses injury or extreme distress. You sound out of breath even typing. I’m glad you’re having fun. :-)»
«If I lose all judgment I’ll call you from jail to bail me out.»
«Fair enough.»
«WTF happened to my sex drive?»
«It got a chance to germinate and sprout at last, perhaps?»
«Well fuck.» She didn’t normally swear to Min, she had always seemed too elegant for crude language, but that was the best way she could think of to express her whole range of tangled feelings, frustration prominent among them.
Her phone buzzed. Min, of course.
«See you tomorrow morning for breakfast still?»
Jillian looked at her phone blankly for a moment.
Was she turning to the right person for support? Was Min actually pretending to be sympathetic while she encouraged Jillian to destroy herself?
Who else was she going to turn to?
She heaved a sigh and bowed her head, eyes closing briefly. Then she replied affirmatively.
Even though supper was done, she still had a bit longer on her laundry. The rational thing to do would be to change to regular clothes and get the toy out of her before she went downstairs to get it.
The thought made her cringe. These ones felt good, they gave her an odd sense of attractiveness and wholeness and, paradoxically, power. Even the toy somehow made her feel complete—it gave her control over her own pleasure beyond anything she’d ever encountered.
She glanced at herself in the living room mirror. Her short hair didn’t show much effect from what she’d been doing. Her makeup did, a little, but she could fix that without much trouble. She caught her own scent, sweat and the odour of her own vaginal juices, and flushed. She couldn’t realistically take a shower and then go get her laundry. She was going to have to live with it.
At least she could try to look reasonably neat, even if it meant extra walking, with the toy jiggling inside. She went to the bedroom to fix her lipstick and straighten her clothes a bit before the timer could sound.
“Okay,” she told her reflection. “I can do this. I am going to go get my laundry, and I’m going to do it without having any screaming orgasms in the hall or writhing around on the floor in the laundry room. I am going to take this one step at a time. I am not going to change clothes because I look hot as fuck, even if I’m too much of a chicken to not wear my sweater over it. This corset rocks, I wonder if I can get it tighter? No, Flair said don’t do that too fast, but it would look and feel so good. I love these shoes, and the rest is such a tease. And if I look like a slut, then truth in advertising, right now I feel like one. In heat. If someone gets their panties in a twist, it doesn’t matter. I’m moving. It’s okay to feel good. It’s okay to feel sexy. It’s okay for people to know I feel sexy.”
Her phone beeped in the living room to let her know that the timer was done.
She took a deep breath, and sauntered out of the bedroom towards the apartment door, scooping up her keys and pulling on her long cardigan on the way. Locking the door meant it would take longer to get back into safety, but the main consideration was not wanting any surprises.
Feeling daring, she didn’t actually belt the cardigan, but left it open. As risks went, it was a small one, but it was wildly out of character for her, after so long working so hard to make sure no one ever saw her as anything but conventional and ordinary.
Down the stairs, more slowly than she might have liked, but without running into anyone.
The laundry room was empty, which was both a relief and a disappointment. Basket on the floor, her feet spread enough for balance, she leaned down to start pulling clothes from the dryer into the basket, her breath catching as the motion pulled the crotch seam of her shorts sharply up into her and pressed on the toy.
She heard the laundry room door behind her while she was still bent over, her backside in the air.
Trying her best to be nonchalant, she finished retrieving her clothes, straightened up, and casually pulled her sweater more closely around her, tying the belt, before she picked up the basket. With a nod to the older man who had paused on his way to the washing machines, she strode out of the room and headed for the stairs.
It was a good thing the cardigan was so long. She could feel slippery wetness on her inner thighs. Was she really that much of an exhibitionist slut inside, that the thought of being seen dressed like this got her so wet and hot?
It took a considerable amount of effort to keep putting one foot after the other onto the next step on the way back to her apartment, with her body increasingly screaming at her for release. Breathing hard, she forced herself to take it slow but not stop. She was sweating again by the time she got to her floor. With a hand that trembled perceptibly, she got the key into the lock and got the door open, closing it quickly behind her and leaning against it.
Oh dear god. Why am I doing this? The toy, the shoes, the corset, dressing like a slut?
Because it feels so fucking good. So much more real and immediate than the rest of my boring ordinary life.
Come on, unless you want to dig out the iron, you need to get these folded and hung and put away right now. You can’t stop to play with yourself.
No matter how badly you want to.
She took the basket to the bedroom. The first thing she put away was the cardigan, since she shouldn’t need it again now. One item at a time, trying very hard not to think about how many were left, trying hard not to think about the heat and the pulsing between her legs, she got everything taken care of.
Supper was waiting in the kitchen. She really should go eat. Or at least put it away properly.
She could survive frustration. In fact, in a weird sort of way, it reminded her of her twelve hours with the fae. In another weird way, it felt good, the ongoing stimulation and arousal without any immediate hurry to rush towards a culmination. Men, she’d found, assumed that climax was the only goal, and if she didn’t have at least one, they took it as an insult to their manhood, or a failure on their part, or both. The pressure could be the wrong kind of frustrating. This was frustrating, but she knew she could end it any time she chose.
So she chose to go to the kitchen and get herself a plate of food, putting the rest neatly in the fridge.
But sitting down to eat, that was too much. She stood at the counter, absently shifting her weight from one foot to the other, vaginal muscles clenching intermittently around the toy just to feel it. Her fantasies remained high in her awareness. What would it be like to be here and waiting for a master to come home from work? Always looking sexy and being aroused and ready for him would be a given, and making sure that he’d have anything that would please him. Would he want his supper immediately, or would he want to make use of her first? Have her bend over the kitchen table to offer herself, or have her drop to her knees for a blow job? Would he have her serve him his supper, and then command her to take him in her mouth while he lingered over his meal?
Would he invite friends over, and have her serve drinks and snacks for them while they talked about guy stuff, letting them ogle his obedient and shameless pet? Would he let them touch her, maybe even more, grope and fondle her, while her master watched her enjoy the attentions? Would he command her to please them sexually?
That was going too far. Fantasies about belonging to a loving master she could more or less deal with. Fantasies that involved him sharing her with his friends, that was just too kinky.
But disturbingly enticing.
She finished eating, left the dishes in the sink, and retired to her bedroom.
There was nothing else she had to do. She could just arrange herself on her bed comfortably and unbutton her shorts enough to slide a hand down and reach her clit. It was already throbbing and engorged. It shouldn’t take all that much to push herself into the orgasm she so desperately needed by now. And once she had, precedent suggested that she’d be able to get ahold of herself and calm down. She’d be able to get ready for bed and simply read for a while while her senses cooled down.
It took only minimal contact, she was right about that, and it felt incredible, her whole body pulsing and throbbing with the shivers that radiated outward from her groin.
But it wasn’t enough to help her cool down.
Oh well. There was no hurry. If it took one or two more, so be it.
* * *
Jillian found Min and Flair with minimal difficulty at the restaurant, and dropped into a third chair at the table to pick up the waiting menu.
“Sorry… I seem to be running late a lot lately. I overslept a bit.”
“You can certainly use all the sleep you can get right now,” Min said. “I hope it wasn’t because you had a bad night leading up to it.”
“No, I was, um, pretty relaxed.” Her cheeks were darkening, she was sure of it.
“Being relaxed makes you blush?” Flair said, perplexed.
“Well, not in and of itself…”
“Then why are you blushing?”
“Um… I was experimenting with that toy.”
“Oh! But that doesn’t explain blushing. No, wait. yes it does. Sorry. I’m usually a couple steps behind on social cues involving sex, since I have to put them together consciously, and sometimes I’m wrong. Still, it’s just me and Mistress. I thought it was okay for a group of women to talk about sex.”
“Depends on the group of women and the situation.” She shot Min a ‘Help me out, here!’ look, but Min only looked amused as she stirred her tea and raised it for a delicate sip.
“Wow. Complicated. But why? Nik makes great toys. He keeps trying new ideas on me. I have a whole basket full of them. And he really does make them, by hand. Only ones for special people have fae magic in them. Those ones have really in-depth safety features to go with a really amazing range of commands and functions. I still find new ones sometimes. Those are the only ones with the Capricorn symbol in that shimmery black. The ones he sells online, he’ll customize them and all, but they’re all mechanical. They have it in metallic gold.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Because you were conscious while you met him?” Min suggested dryly, but she was smiling.
“Satyrs understand human sexuality really well,” Flair said. “His toys are pretty popular with people who can afford them. Sometimes he’ll do one for someone who can’t afford the full price, just to be nice—especially anyone in a wheelchair who’s having trouble with relationships or physical function or self-image.”
“That’s thoughtful of him.”
“He truly is a kind and thoughtful person,” Min said. “He’s clever with his hands, and there are Greek traditions of automata and remarkable mechanical objects that go back far before the Romans destroyed anything not useful to them for military purposes. The humans who stay with him for a while tend to become rather… needy, and he felt sorry for them and began to experiment. Current technologies have given him some new materials to use, including some that combine beautifully with fae magic. He feels strongly, as satyrs tend to, about encouraging healthy expression of human sexuality.”
“Which is why you can’t just give it commands, you have to do the whole dirty-talk thing?”
Min chuckled. “He says it’s more fun and that while initially it can be intimidating, in the long run it helps break down inhibitions.”
“Uh-huh. And what if I say the wrong thing to it and it takes it literally? Like eat me or something?”
The waitress paused next to the table, glanced at Jillian, then her expression smoothed into professional friendliness. “Ready to order?”
Blushing again, Jillian gestured to Min and Flair to go ahead.
Min waited until the waitress was gone. “As for what you asked… the magical toys have failsafes built in that will cause them to instantly deactivate. Cardiac arrhythmia, for example, or any sudden substantial change in blood pressure, body temperature, or blood oxygen, or brain activity suggestive of a stroke or seizure. It will also register genuine all-out panic, as opposed to simple fear. And it will refuse to do anything that would be blatantly harmful, like telling it to expand to such a degree that it causes physical trauma, or adjusting its temperature outside a safe range. Nik has quite a lot of experience with the sorts of things humans may say in the heat of the moment or find appealing, and does what he can to minimize the risks. Despite that, creative humans still occasionally find ways to circumvent his safety protocols that never occurred to him. But it’s rare and typically needs some very dedicated effort.”
“That’s reassuring, at least.”
“They can do just about anything you can imagine,” Flair said. “You can give them timed commands, like, do whatever for this long then do something else. They can do conditional commands, like, under X conditions do this, but under Y conditions do that instead. You can layer commands together into some pretty complex sets that start looking like a computer program, actually—I’ve written down a few in advance, to make sure I covered everything I meant, and you can tell a toy to save a set of commands with a trigger name. They can do a lot of different sensations, I don’t think I’ve found them all yet, and they can combine sensations, which can get really interesting. Since no toy will let you hurt yourself with it, the best thing to do is just experiment a lot. I’ll email you a list of the commands I’ve found so far, and what I mean by a program.”
“It’s reassuring, and definitely sounds interesting. I’ll have to do that. It might not be until after I move, though. Lots to do before then.” And that was enough about this subject, time to change it. “An apartment I looked at last night was great, I’m waiting to hear whether I can have it. I really hope I can. Most of it is ground floor with its own entrance, there are two steps up to the door. The bedroom is a loft with a window on each end and part of the ceiling is slanted but not too bad, and the lower level’s big enough to be quite comfortable. It’s probably more overall floorspace than I have right now, with more windows.”
“And Mistress could visit,” Flair said.
“That did cross my mind. The bathroom’s on the lower level with the living room and kitchen.”
“It sounds lovely,” Min said. “What part of town is it in?”
“Less than a dozen blocks more or less south of you.”
“It’s a reasonable area, too. Not affluent, but generally friendly. I hope you get it. If nothing else, it will be a huge relief for you once you have one lined up.”
“No kidding.”
“Don’t let me forget,” Flair said, “I need to give you my phone number. I used to have one but I stopped using it so Mistress cancelled it, but I dug it out this past week and recharged it and Mistress got another number on her account and it works fine.”
Jillian decided not to ask about the history there. “Definitely.”
Jillian’s current apartment wasn’t so far away that a walk with a belly full of breakfast was particularly unpleasant. Min, out of necessity, left them at the door.
“While I can handle stairs, probably best not to be seen doing so,” Min said in amusement.
Flair giggled. Jillian visualized Min’s powerful serpent tail and how little challenge stairs probably were, and smiled.
“Thank you for having mercy on my neighbours.”
Flair gave Min a hug. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Keep me posted. Good luck with the packing.” She spun the chair neatly and headed back towards the street.
Next time: Moving day’s finally here! Five humans, four fae, and a truckload of possessions.
