You learn, when the dynamics of what you know and what you don’t get shaken up. It’s how Charlotte learns, and she learns that about herself on the first night she gives Sasha control.
Sasha’s tender movements contradict her harsh words: she strokes Charlotte’s cheek as she ties the blindfold and calls her perverted for wanting this, she kisses lightly along Charlotte’s exposed neck, whispering ‘slut’ every time she breaks away.
“Face down, ass up. I want to see every inch of you.”
Charlotte thinks she’s prepared. She counts each stinging slap as instructed, punctuating it with a reluctant “Thank you, mistress”, and Sasha laughs cruelly every time. She pinches Charlotte’s thigh hard enough to draw a yelp.
“Had enough yet?”
It’s Sasha’s half of the safe-word: her tone may be callous, but when they talked out the plan, she insisted on regular check-ins.
“Not even close.”
“Your ass is glowing red, honey,” says Sasha. The bed dips for a moment, before Charlotte is pushed off the edge. “On your knees and on the floor, where sluts like you belong.”
Charlotte’s rehearsed a hundred retorts to that insult. God knows, she’s heard it enough times before. But in Sasha’s cloying, condescending tone, as if Charlotte should already know where she belongs, the words send a shiver of arousal to her very core.
But still, she can’t help herself.
“Where do you belong, mistress?”
Sasha slaps her hard across the face. Charlotte’s tears creep out from under her blindfold. She raises a hand to wipe away the visceral, physical reaction -- emotionally, she’s had worse -- but Sasha grabs her by the wrist and pulls her up.
“You don’t talk to me that way, or you’ll be punished,” she hisses. Guiding Charlotte's hands around her waist and knotting her fingers in Charlotte's blonde locks, Sasha pushes Charlotte’s face into her cunt. “Now, prove you’re good for something, at least.”
Charlotte opens her mouth to ask a question, but Sasha bucks her hips. She barely catches the scent of how slicked-up Sasha is before she’s immersed in the taste.
There’s no time to tease, to rile Sasha up until she’s rabid with the urge to come; no, Charlotte eats out Sasha’s cunt with sloppy, desperate strokes, laying her tongue flat and savouring every drop of the wetness she’s allowed today. Sasha gasps more than she moans. She quivers under Charlotte’s skillful technique, wrapping her legs around Charlotte’s head and pulling her even closer.
Charlotte slows down a fraction, shifting on her knees to adjust her position.
Sasha rips off the blindfold; Charlotte looks up at her as her hands knead her perky tits, fingers pinching her nipples as she arches her back. A wave of lust sweeps through her body and she puts all her attention to work that sensitive bud under her tongue.
“Use your fingers,” orders Sasha, “and don’t you dare touch yourself before I tell you to. You’re a whore, but you’re mine -- and you do what I say.”
Charlotte looks up at her again; Sasha’s pupils are blown out with desire. Charlotte obeys, using her wide fingers to pump into Sasha’s dripping wet opening. She slides in a third finger, earning a lewd moan for her trouble.
Sasha’s breathing is so hard, so erratic, that it shakes the bed and Charlotte’s frame as she leans on her for support.
“Fuck, I’m close,” she breathes. Despite the ache brewing in the back of her neck, Charlotte speeds up, finger-fucking Sasha as hard as she can while sucking on her swollen clit. Her own slick drips down her thighs. “Fuck, Charlotte--!”
Sasha moans her name over and over as she comes, thighs trembling, her lips parted in a shaking oval.
Charlotte doesn’t have to be told what’s next. She licks up every drop from Sasha’s inner thighs. It’s such an intimate detail, the way Sasha pats her head and kisses her forehead, and Charlotte knows how lucky she is; she’s allowed to see this side of Sasha, and she, alone, is allowed to know her in the most carnal of ways.