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When Andy had first stumbled across Miranda's very private choice in light reading matter, it had taken her by surprise. If she'd given the topic any thought (which she'd had no real reason to) before, she might have imagined that the Editor-In-Chief would opt for a classic novel, an architectural magazine, perhaps even a leather-bound tome of esoteric French poetry, spine elegantly cracked and boasting a beautifully developed patina. Such options befitted a woman who controlled and cultivated the minutae of every aspect of her life to the utmost degree.
Then again, perhaps that particular common thread which seemingly ran through her every waking moment ought to have lessened the shock of discovering that what she indulged in when alone conveyed the very opposite theme.
"Andrea, have you seen my - oh." Miranda fell silent, whatever she had been looking for taking an emphatic back seat to the sight in front of her. She leaned against the doorway, steadying herself.
Andy moved to stand from where she'd been crouching beside the bed. Her investigations underneath it had been borne of honest motivation, frankly. She was always losing socks under there, and had hoped one of her favorite cotton-cashemere blends - definitely not her favorite due to Miranda buying them for her as an office-appropriate Christmas present seven months before - might be hiding beneath the mattress.
It was not. What had been sequestered away in the dark, however, was the stack of at least nine slender books which currently sat nestled in her arms.
Miranda's mouth opened and closed, giving her the air of what Mary Poppins (who the girls had recently discovered, and now provided liberal reference points for Andy as a result) might have disparagingly referred to as a 'codfish'.
"There's not really any point in denying it, is there?" she said softly.
Andy's eyebrows crinkled. "What do you mean, deny it? That makes it sound like you're ashamed of reading them."
The Editor blinked. "Ought I not to be? I assume you've at least some idea of what they're about."
"Miranda," Andy said gently, setting the books down on top of the bedsheets, "less than three months in I asked you to write 'Property of Miranda Priestly' on my ass in black Sharpie and then walked around the office like that for a week straight. What's the difference? We like what we like, we get little choice in the matter, and so long as everyone involved freely agrees, I don't think there's any problem with it. And you're just reading!"
Miranda bit her lip. Andy cocked her head. She knew that look, when Miranda wanted to say something but wasn't quite sure of the best way to voice it. It was a rare expression, but its rarity implied real sincerity.
"Unless," she continued, attempting to sound as neutral and open as possible, "it's something you'd be interested in us exploring?"
Miranda shifted from foot to foot. Andy waited patiently.
Her patience was shortly rewarded.
"If it would not… displease you. I would be interested. In that."
"I mean, I don't feel too comfortable with actually hypnotising you. You've got to be able to say no at any point, and all."
"Yes, yes, I know," Miranda murmured. "Aside from the fact I doubt anyone would be able to actually cause me to lose control of my faculties - to that degree, anyway, it's not a comment on your performance, darling, more that it's not quite how clinical hypnosis works - the girls' school have had health class learning plans recently sent to parents. I had to spend an entire evening reading about the ongoing nature of consent, so I'm quite aware of that."
"But," Andy soldiered on, "there's nothing stopping us from pretending you are. That I have. That me pretending to do clinical hypnosis has the effect of movie-style hypnosis. Roleplay. Et cetera."
The older woman looked thoughtful. Her eyes drifted to a spot somewhere behind Andy.
"Roleplay, you say," she murmured. "An act. Yes. I like the sound of that."
***
1 - The Initial Session
"I can't believe you just made fun of my safeword, Miranda," Andy huffed.
A faux-scandalised look greeted her. "I did no such thing."
"Really? Because that lip-bite thing you do when you're trying not to laugh, plus repeating it like I've just suggested you leave the house in sliders - it does leave that sort of impression, you know."
"I was merely amused at your choice. There's a certain distinction between amusement and making fun."
(Andy would beg to differ, particuarly coming from Miranda, who conflated the two at such a rate at work she really couldn't be faulted for taking them as synonymous.)
"What's wrong with onion?"
"Nothing, darling. I apologise."
Andy smiled. "What's yours?"
"Crocs. There is no circumstance under which that word would find itself included within my vocabulary otherwise."
***
They had pre-agreed upon a time. It wasn't the sort of thing one did spontaneously - at least not at first, although Miranda had expressed her desire for such a thing to happen after the initial 'session'. Her fervent desire, in fact.
All they had determined on was when and where, however. Once they stepped into the master bedroom, taking charge of proceedings thereon was Andy's sole responsibility.
She tugged Miranda down to the floor, on top of a no-doubt exortionate rug she hoped wouldn't be too arduous to clean. She arranged their bodies so that she sat behind Miranda, knees bracketing the Editor's thighs, effectively locking them together and trapping her in place. Miranda leaned back against her.
"Okay," she began softly. "Comfortable?"
Miranda hummed in assent.
"Alright. I want you to focus on the wall," Andy said. "Can you do that?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Good. Now, lace your fingers and thumbs together, but keep the index fingers pointing up. Raise your hands a bit. To eye level - yes, right there. What I want you to do is to imagine that there is a force pushing your indexes together, but your job is to resist them. Only a little resistance at the moment. The force isn't that strong. Can you feel the pull?"
"Oh," Miranda murmured, faintly surprised. "Yes. I can."
"Excellent. Now, I'm going to count back from five, and when I hit one, you're going to resist the force as best as you possibly can. It's going to feel like it's getting stronger with every count. Ready?"
The Editor's eyes were laser-focused on her hands, just as Andy had intended. The rises and falls of her chest had also assumed a more regulated, slower, languid quality - a good sign for one who was aiming to enter a state of heightened relaxation.
"Five."
"Four."
"Three."
Miranda's head had tipped forward - only marginally, but Andy, concentrating as much on Miranda as Miranda was her fingers - towards the locus of her attention. She barely blinked.
"Two."
"One."
Miranda's eyebrows furrowed, but her eyes had taken on a slightly glazed quality.
Andy speaking soothingly etc.
Miranda focusing.
"The next part of this session is going to be focused on what's going on inside your body," Andy said soothingly.
Sliding her hand up to curl her fingers around Miranda's neck, she was greeted by a lazy pulse. She was well enough acquainted with every part of Miranda's body now that it was immediately obvious that her partner's heart-rate was slower than usual.
Perfect.
"I want you to focus on the very tips of your toes. Feel the blood pumping around, perhaps your heartbeat. There's a golden thread there. It's wrapping around each toe, weaving in and out. Then we're going to draw up along your feet" - they twitched - your ankle, calves. Keep following the thread. Your knees, your thighs, your pelvis. How about the lower back?"
Miranda arched it - the only part of her body that moved. She arched it in the exact motion one might do if a tiny piece of silky twine had just looped around her.
"That's good, Miranda," she whispered. "That's very good. Now, it's heading around, towards your stomach. Keep visualising it. It's thin and light. It's curling around your ribs now, up and up, skimming the underside of your breasts. It's flowing towards your shoulderblades. Can you feel it?"
Miranda inclined her head. Her mouth formed the word 'yes', yet no sound issued from it. That was sufficient from Andy's perspective. She had no wish to forcibly disrupt the rhythmic push-pull of the Editor's breathing, growing steadily more relaxed by the second.
"Around it comes again, flowing over your shoulders. It's trailing up your neck, along your jawline, around your ears. Your forehead. It's flowing in the direction of your hairline. Circling your head. Weaving through your hair, spiraling at your crown. Spiraling, spiraling, spiraling…"
Miranda's limbs were limp. Her pupils were a little dilated, and her eyes had taken on an even glassier and more glazed sheen.
She was the very picture of pliable. Andy couldn't have hoped for more. Miranda had clearly been doing thorough research on movie hypnosis.
"Now," she said quietly. "Are you listening to me, Miranda?"
"Yes," came the soft reply.
"Good." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small handheld bell. "Do you see this?"
Miranda nodded.
"Whenever I ring this bell, that's your sign to enter the state you are currently in. No questions, no delay. You don't speak unless I ask you to. You do whatever I say. Do you think you can do that? For me?"
Another nod, and it was eager.
"Good girl." She bent down to plant a gentle kiss on the crown of Miranda's head.
Andy took Miranda's hand in her own, and raised them so that they were held aloft in front of their faces. She separated Miranda's index and middle fingers from the rest.
"You see these? These lovely fingers of yours?"
An affirmative hum.
"You're going to use these."
The room was silent save for the sound of breathing, rapid now. It was unclear whose was which.
"Touch your pussy for me."
Andy guided Miranda's hand down, halting halfway down her body, then letting it go. A frisson of satisfaction ran through her as Miranda continued the descent, drawing up the bottom of her skirt to pool around her upper thighs.
"Describe what you feel," she breathed into Miranda's ear.
"Hot. Wet."
"Yes. Yes. Gather it up. Spread it on your clit. All over - yes, that's right."
The sound of Miranda's wetness swirling under her fingertips filled the otherwise silent bedroom. Miranda's lips were pressed so tightly together they appeared white.
"Look down," she commanded. "Look where I'm looking."
And she reached around herself, then - exercising great care not to make any contact with Miranda's skin - pulled up the skirt even further so that they could access the view she desired.
Hence the sight of Miranda's core, swollen and reddened, shining back up at them. Miranda's face was reddened, too, such was the effort to prevent a groan or whimper from leaving her mouth.
"Keep going," Andy instructed. "Keep looking. And above all, do not cum without my say-so. You'll finish when I tell you to."
The swallow that descended down Miranda's throat was pronounced, and deeply gratifying. As was the continued unfocusedness of her eyes, and softness of her limbs pressing against Andy's body.
The softness threatened to dissapate after a while, however, as Miranda drew closer to the frontier so explicitly forbidden.
"Ah, ah," Andy chided. "Move your hand away for a few moments."
Everything in Miranda's expression conveyed her absolute, unmitigated dismay at such a command.
She complied anyway, holding her now-soaked fingers away from her body and gazing up pitifully at Andy.
Who smiled wickedly, said, "Good. Now you've shown me you can follow instructions, that you'll do as I say… you may continue."
Miranda did. And as her hips began to rock back and forth, Andy moved her hands to anchor both of them firmly towards the floor, flexing her thighs to prevent the Editor's from splaying outwards.
"I'm going to lean back," she said. "You're going to follow me."
And such a promise was duly fulfilled, Andy ending up lying with her back against the carpet, Miranda's back against Andy, both pairs of legs bent at the knees and feet planted on the floor, the younger woman still pulling the Editor's hips in a direction sychronous with gravity.
"That's it," Andy murmured, "that's it, that's it, that's it…"
Miranda began to tremble. Such was the level of concentration necessary to stave off her climax.
And she'd taken to accepting Andy's every word so well, so beautifully, that Andy took pity on her.
"Cum for me, Miranda."
The free hand shot up, over her head, blindly seeking one of Andy's out, her brain so scrambled she didn't even register that it took a couple of seconds to find it due to it travelling up from her hip. Their fingers interlaced, and as the orgasm hit her like a freight train, Miranda ground her hips down over Andy's pelvis with all her might. And while she herself had yet to be properly touched, the psychological arousal - the heady high - from instructing and watching Miranda, combined with the sensation of a pale buttock (onto which both their arousal had run) rubbing over the hood of her clit…
It was enough for her, too.
Their breathing eventually returned to something approximating a normal level. Andy relinquished her remaining grip on Miranda's hip, trailing her fingers over the soft abdomen and coming to cup the underside of a breast. As she gently thumbed over one taut nipple, she sighed.
"You did well, Miranda. So, so well."
"Did I?" Miranda breathed, twisting her head to look at her.
Oh. Her eyes were still purposefully, deliberately clouded, even more than was to be expected from a woman fresh out of a climax.
"I don't think you're done listening to me," Andy said suddenly, and the repressed purr somewhere in Miranda's chest, vibrating so that her hand felt it - it proved her interpretation of the Editor's expression had been eminently correct. "You're not, are you?"
Miranda shook her floppy head.
2 - The Kitchen
She smelled Miranda before she saw her. Or, more precisely, she smelled what Miranda was doing.
It was a surprisingly sweet smell, vaguely syrupy and berry-tinged. Upon entering the kitchen, the source became apparent.
Miranda's back was turned to her, designer apron knotted tidily around her waist, humming idly away to herself. Such was yet another simultaneously unexpected but thoroughly welcome development over the course of their relationship - Andy's cajoling of Miranda to try not engaging her cook seven times a week.
After much pleading and batting of eyelashes, the Editor had resigned herself to six times a week instead.
Allowing herself a smug anticipatory smirk, Andy reached into her bag for the bell.
And rang it. Three times, short and sharp. It was enough.
The humming stopped. Miranda's shoulders went limp, as did the hand holding the edge of the bowl in which rested freshly made white icing.
"Bend over the counter," Andy commanded softly.
Miranda did precisely that. She moved silently, which was quite right, for Andy had not instructed her to speak.
Andy moved behind her, pressing her breasts into Miranda's back. She slid her thumbs under the hem of the Editor's skirt. Miranda waited patiently.
"Do you want me to lift your skirt up?"
A nod, barely perceptible but very much there.
It took less than three seconds for her to ruck the skirt up around Miranda's hips, revealing a significant amount of skin and a tiny white thong. Andy swiped her thumbs over the two pale ass cheeks, kneading and occasionally dipping between them. When she slipped two fingers lower down to rub over the older woman's lace-covered but dampened perineium and traced the edge of the material, Miranda's hips pushed back, chasing further contact. It was clearly an involuntary reflex.
"Ah-ah," Andy chided. "I didn't say to do that."
Miranda hung her head.
"Now, you can make it up to me," she added. "Unbutton your blouse and take it off. Bra too. Leave the apron on."
Ring-adorned fingers rapidly discarded the blouse, pulling it out from under the apron and sending it fluttering to the floor. The bra quickly joined it.
"Turn around."
Miranda's eyes had taken on the glassy sheen Andy had hoped for. Her lips were slightly parted, and there were two spots of color high on her cheekbones.
Andy's gaze darted around the kitchen, searching for inspiration.
She found it.
Hoisting Miranda onto the counter like she weighed nothing at all, Andy reached for the bowl of icing. Extending one finger, she scooped up a dollop and proffered it in front of the Editor's lips.
"Suck it off."
Miranda's eyelashes fluttered, and she leaned her head forward, closing the distance and wrapped her lips around Andy's finger.
"Eyes on me."
Her eyes opened fully, and as she sucked the icing from the digit in her mouth, they rolled back slightly in her head. Andy couldn't help but register the heavy throbbing which had started to make itself known between her thighs. She'd initially proposed this primarily for Miranda's benefit, but now, watching the fruit it had borne, Miranda voluntarily surrendering all control…
She liked it. She liked it enormously. Perhaps she even loved it.
"Wonderful." Stepping back a little and removing her now clean finger from between Miranda's lips - now decorated by tiny white traces of icing - she picked up the bowl and held it up between them.
"Spread your legs."
Miranda did, and Andy took advantage of the newly revealed space to step closer, slotting one knee against Miranda's barely-covered sex and applying light pressure - enough so that the Editor would feel it, but not enough so that she could achieve any real relief from it.
"Take your breasts out of the apron."
A sudden inhale of air and further dilation of pupils were the only indications that Miranda found such a suggestion immensely arousing. Andy watched in still silence, waiting.
She didn't have to wait long, for the Editor reached up. She tugged the apron down with one hand, the other one disappearing underneath it to lift one creamy breast out, allowing it to rest on top of the cotton, then repeated the motion on the other side.
"That's good, Miranda." Fighting back a smile at how those eyes became marginally less glassy for a moment, a sparkling rising to the surface, she continued.
You see this?" she held up the bowl. Miranda inclined her head. "I want you to put some on both your forefingers."
The Editor reached out and obeyed. She sat there, legs spread and tits out, eyes now unfocused and hooded once more, quietly awaiting further instruction.
"Put it on each of your nipples."
The swallow making its way down Miranda's throat was blatant. Andy allowed the tip of her tongue to trace over her top lip. She figured it was justified. Anyone with the view she had would be hard-pressed not to, confronted by two hardened nipples amid a sea of ivory skin, topped with delicate swirls of icing firmly swirled into place, flashes of darkened pink visible here and there through the white.
It was Andy's turn to suck.
She doubted she'd want dinner.
3 - The Office
Miranda hadn't been expecting Andrea to make an appearance at the start of her designated lunch break.
Perhaps that was the point.
For in she stepped, and something in the air shifted around her. Maybe it was the movement of her hand within the ridiculously large pocket of her Armani blazer, followed by the unmistakeable muffled ringing of the bell.
The office was the last place the Editor had imagined Andrea to 'hypnotise' her. Yet again, that made such a choice more likely. Fitting. And given the original point of all of this, this abdication of control, this effectively 'free use' arrangement - it was perfect.
So she consciously slumped down in her chair, cocking her head and staring at Andrea through purposefully blurred eyes.
"I'm going to stand in the corner. You're going to tell the other assistants you are under no circumstances to be disturbed during lunch," Andrea began. "And then you are to put down the blinds to the windows. After that, you will go into your private bathroom and strip for me. Entirely."
***
"On all fours, Miranda," Andrea said quietly.
Who was she to say no?
The exposure felt wonderful, although the cold press of marbled tiles against her knees rather less so. She soon forgot about the mild discomfort, however, for Andrea walked to stand in front of her and cleared her throat, signalling for Miranda to look up.
She gulped. For the younger woman stood with her legs apart, hand stroking over a distinct bulge in her trousers. How had she not seen that there before?
"Mmm," Andrea hummed. "Would you like to know what we're going to do?"
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, please."
"Exactly. I'm going to get my cock out, and you're going to take me in your mouth. Then I'm going to take you from behind."
Miranda blinked up at her, watching contentedly as Andrea drew down her zipper and unbuttoned her flies. Those were an exceptionally well tailored pair of Cucinelli mens' pants, she had to admit that much.
But then Andrea tugged them down - just enough to reveal what was underneath - and Miranda found her interest diverting elsewhere. Andrea made an upwards come hither gesture with her hand, and Miranda crawled the short distance to her, then rose to kneel, meeting the cerulean strap-on with her lips.
She'd picked the color specifically to compliment Miranda's eyes, and her thoughtfulness was duly rewarded. As the Editor reached out to curl one hand around the back of Andy's right thighs and the other around the base of her cock, Andy couldn't help but notice that the older woman's eyes and the color of the strap weren't too far off a match, especially with the effect of Miranda's choice in dark eyeliner that day.
The tip of a pink tongue licked experimentally over the head, followed by flattening to draw a wet stripe up the length of the strap. Miranda kissed along back down again, then wrapped her lips around the end and began to suck. With each one, she took more of the length in, until her nose was all but tickling Andy's own skin.
Andy couldn't help herself. A hand weaved its way to grasp the hair at the back of Miranda's head, and she pressed the Editor's skull towards her, holding her firmly in place. Miranda evidently hadn't been expecting it, for she gagged a little. The reflex allowed the cock to slide deeper into her throat, and the corners of her eyes grew damp as well as glassy.
"Be vocal," she ordered through gritted teeth. Miranda promptly gasped and moaned around the cock in her mouth.
The combination of the base of the strap rubbing against her clit and the sounds Miranda was making caused bolt after bolt of arousal to fire low in Andy's stomach. She tipped her head back and let out a groan of her own, and the obvious effects Miranda's ministrations were having on her only emboldened the Editor further. Redoubling her enthusiasm, she sped up the pace of her sucks. Andy felt her thighs began to tense in the manner they always did just as an impending climax started to swell into a wave.
So she cleared her throat and murmured, "that's enough. Turn back around and get on your hands and knees again."
It was clear why she'd made that particular choice. They were now facing the mirror bolted onto the back of the door.
"Eyes up," she commanded. "Look in the mirror. You'll look now, and you'll see how beautiful you look when I'm inside you."
Miranda shivered, but kept silent. Andy stepped slightly to the side so the shining cock was visible in the reflection to the both of them.
"You've done a good job, getting me ready."
She crouched down to grip Miranda's hips, pulling them up to reach a better angle. Swiping to fingers over her pussy, Andy smiled in satisfaction.
"I think you're ready. Tell me that you're ready."
"I'm ready," came the obedient reply.
And so Andy lined up her cock and pushed it slowly inside Miranda. On some level, she cursed the fact that it was silicone and not flesh, but the opportunity to behold the visual in front of her more than made up for it. Miranda's hole was stretched around the cock, and as Andy pulled it out, the heavy throbbing in her clit intensified tenfold at seeing how slick with slippery arousal it was, along with the wet squelching sound which accompanied it.
She snapped her hips again and again, driving into Miranda with a ferocity that had never been a part of the relatively few times she'd strapped her partner before. If the way Miranda was shuddering was anything to go by, it was a welcome development, a thoroughly enjoyable change.
"Look at yourself in the mirror," she growled, not letting up one jot. "And you're going to keep quiet. Not a sound."
Miranda did, and what looked back at her was someone she hardly recognised. Her hair was dishevelled, eyes unfocused and firey, a deep red flush spreading down her neck, across her collarbones, over her sternum to the tops of her breasts, which swayed and bounced obscenely with every thrust. The fact Andy was mostly still clothed while Miranda only wore her jewellery only added to the striking imagery of it all.
"Close your legs as much as you can," Andy moaned. A little confused to begin with, Miranda swiftly understood why she'd asked that. Pressing her thighs together added yet more friction, crushing her clit between them sending sparks up her spine, making it even harder to stifle the moans clawing their way up her throat. It also meant Andy was able to stand on either side of her legs, preventing her from moving even more.
Miranda's eyes rolled back in her head. From above her, a growl ripped through the air.
"I didn't say you could cum yet."
An unauthorised whimper slipped through her lips, earning a firm smack on her ass.
"I didn't say you could do that, either."
Miranda stared at Andy in the mirror - still hazy, but now joined by a distinctly apologetic hue.
Andy smirked and bent down to rub at her clit. She tried to time it so that her downstrokes were in unison with the base of the strap bumping against her own clit, and the fact both women started to move more haphazardly at the same time indicated she was succeeding.
Miranda's eyes were stretched wide open with the toll it was taking on her not to cry out, and Andy saw it, rendering her substantially more willing to let the muffled squeaks below her fly.
Speaking of flying -
The wave crested unexpectedly, rapidly, and it was vicious. She was powerless to hold back, and nor did she want to. Andy let her climax crash down around her, her thrusts entirely uncoordinated and uncontrolled. She'd later figure that in doing so she'd managed to hit that small patch of roughened skin inside Miranda that never failed to tip her over the edge, for the Editor followed her into euphoria mere moments later.
***
She drew a small bottle of lubricant with the label removed from her pocket, then squeezed a quarter-sized amount onto her flattened fingers. Miranda followed its progress with great interest, the energy her orgasm had sapped from her rapidly returning.
"Pull these apart." She rubbed the slickened strap against Miranda's ass cheeks.
As Miranda complied, she focused on her target - that tiny puckered hole, as yet untouched. She reached into her pocket again, this time producing a high-end butt plug, which she moved to within Miranda's vision. The Editor stifled a small gasp, but made no move to protest.
"What I'm going to do," she murmured, still holding the plug where Miranda could see it, "is get you all nice and lubed up back there, and then I'm going to put this inside. And you're going to wear it for the rest of the day. That sounds good, doesn't it?"
"Y - yes," Miranda whispered.
"Reckon you're tight enough to keep it there? For hours?"
"Yes."
"Mmm. Might have to do something about that. Soon you won't be."
The Editor's arms trembled at what was either a concealed threat, or a thinly-veiled promise. In either case, Andy began to rub lubricant first onto the end of the plug, and then all over Miranda's asshole. She delighted in watching it flex in response to her touch.
"Ready?" she murmured.
A breathless 'yes' was all the go-ahead she needed. Figuring some additional stimulation couldn't hurt, she moved the hand not holding the plug to play with Miranda's clit as she pushed it in. The dual stimulation caused a gurgling grunt to emnate from the Editor's chest.
Once she'd pushed the plug as far as it could go, deep inside Miranda's asshole, Andy sat back on her haunches to admire her handiwork. Miranda remained exactly as she was, positioned in place and ripe for observation.
As much as she would like to have remained there for an hour or more, Andy knew that Miranda's lunch break could not go on forever.
"Redress yourself," she instructed. "But you're not allowed to clean yourself up."
When Miranda had done so, reapplying the makeup Andy had stashed in her bag for that very purpose, she straightened up and turned to face the door.
"I'll wait in here for a little while," Andy said. "In case anyone happens to be passing outside."
As Miranda opened the door and prepared to walk out, Andy patted her now-filled ass.
"Look at you. You can't help it, can you? Doing whatever I say, whenever I want? Taking me everywhere? I wonder if anyone will smell you this afternoon? Know what you've been up to? I'm so proud of you, Miranda."
Miranda squeezed her thighs together. Andy thought of the arousal still sticking to them.
"Go. Get back to work."
And she did.
4 - The Maybach
Andy sauntered up the steps of the townhouse and placed her key in the lock. Stepping inside of the foyer, it was to see Miranda waiting patiently by the stairs, dressed - as requested - in a high-necked wool coat and heels.
She rang the bell. Miranda relaxed.
"Get in your car. The passenger seat."
Miranda paused, then hesitantly said, "Crocs."
Andy blinked. "Oh, shit. Did I say - do something wrong? Are you okay?"
"Yes, yes," Miranda replied, amused. "Everything is fine."
"Then why did - "
" - You insinuated you would be driving my car."
"Hang on - you safe-worded because I'd be driving?" Andrea wasn't rendered speechless, that much was obvious, but the level of incredulity coloring her features indicated she wasn't too far off it.
"Temporarily. Give me ten minutes and I'll call and add you to my car insurance. I'm not having my Maybach crashing or us winding up in a freak accident and then being unable to lodge a claim."
The younger woman laughed. "Okay, that's reasonable."
"When am I not?" Miranda replied, faux offended.
***
Insurance inhumanly quickly sorted out (Miranda personally calling almost certainly had something to do with it) and bell re-rang, the two women stepped into the car, Andy moving the front seat forward, given Roy's typical ocean of leg room.
She was very glad she'd memorised the route, as 'hypnotised' or not, Miranda would have been bound to laser in on the GPS otherwise.
As they sped towards the edge of the city, she glanced to her side. The Editor was staring straight ahead, hands folded in her lap and knees slanted to the side.
"You're wondering where we're going, aren't you?"
"Mmm-hmm.
"Use your words."
"Yes."
"You'll find out," she chirped. It was abundantly clear that Miranda was stifling a huff with admirable self-control.
"I take it you followed my instructions?"
"Yes. I did."
Just over an hour later, they hurtled towards a sign reading 'Breakneck Ridge,' giving away Andy's choice in location. But she'd timed their arrival perfectly - a bright orange-pink sunset slashed through the dusky sky, residual daylight still determinedly clinging onto the horizon, however fruitless such an endeavour would ultimately prove. The car was surrounded by vivid green forestry, and eventually came to a stop in a large area overlooking an enormous lake below.
She turned the ignition off, and the car's barely-there hum faded into utter silence. Through the windows, the sound of birdsong swelled through the air.
Andy got out of the vehicle, but before she closed the door, she looked over at Miranda and said softly, "Get out and bend over the hood, facing away from the car."
***
Perhaps it was slightly embarrassing, but Andy was rapidly coming to understand the appeal of those awful mid-century car advertisements with scantily-clad women splayed over the model.
For Miranda was in precisely such a postion, and she thought her unquestionably far more beautiful than any of them.
"Put your hands flat on the hood and keep them there."
Miranda did. Andy stepped closer to that she hovered above the Editor, then reached for her coat. Unbuttoning it and pulling the material to the sides, she was greeted with the sight she'd explicitly told Miranda to dress for.
Or, not quite dress for.
Underneath the coat Miranda wore dark red lingerie and absolutely nothing else. Her chest heaved far more than normal, scarlet lace all but painted onto her skin, and Andy took a moment or two to simply linger, drinking in the vision laid out before her for her sole purview.
"Spread your legs a little more." As Miranda parted her thighs, Andy bent down between them, so close that her face was but centimeters away from the crotch of the Editor's panties - upon which a large darkened patch had throbbed into being.
"Mmm," she commented. "These are in my way. Stay like that."
And in the space of no more than ten seconds, she'd produced a pair of scissors, pulled back the elastic and cut the underwear clean off.
Miranda's eyes widened - and then widened even more as Andy held them up.
"It's a shame I give a damn about the environment, really. It would have been fun to toss them into the ether. Oh, well."
She moved to pocket them, then narrowed her eyes. "Actually, I've a better idea."
Leaning over so that their bodies virtually met in multiple spots, she tapped Miranda's lips with two fingers.
"Open up."
The moment Miranda's lips parted in a perfect 'o', Andy gently placed the panties in between them.
"We can't have anyone hearing us, you see. Public indecency charges don't sound like a great time."
The Editor's eyes sparkled with a mixture of arousal and amusement. The latter was quickly engulfed by the former, however, as Andy slid back down her body and rubbed her nose between Miranda's legs.
The thighs bracketing her head tensed. She replaced her nose with her mouth, and while Miranda dutifully remained silent around the panty gag in her mouth, the birdsong was joined by an entirely different sound anyway.
Andy reached out to grip Miranda's thighs, holding them in place. This was probably necessary, for as time went on the Editor's limbs began to shake.
Miranda's face contorted in that particular configuration exclusive to the precursor to an especially violent orgasm: lips pressed together (albeit now around the lace and silk), eyes screwed shut, skin flushed and nose crinkled in a fashion she thought hideous and Andy thought stunning.
Still, Andy didn't let up. She continued to lick and suck, and added another finger inside Miranda, curling it, determinedly stroking in a tried and tested fashion.
Her determination paid off. Miranda went utterly rigid, her hips snapped up, and a strangled low muffled groan served as the immediate precursor to her squirting - all over the hood, all over herself, all over Andy.
5 - The Den
The click of the front door alerted Miranda's purposefully clouded mind to Andrea's return. Her breath caught in her throat, but the force of her exhales was ever so marginally impeded by her partner's perhaps most outre purchase (and one she'd had ordered to a drop-off locker on the other side of the city under a fake name).
Her hand drifted up to run her fingertips along the soft leather fastened around her neck. It was the only thing she wore. That was another command Andrea had delivered in that oh-so-soft 'hypnotic' voice of hers, just before she'd left the house earlier that Saturday morning. That Miranda would divest herself of every scrap of clothing bar the collar for the rest of the day, given she had no engagements which required leaving the townhouse, and the girls' had left for an all-day birthday outing and sleepover at a classmate's house. It had been something of an experience to complete paperwork and write emails while in the nude, but it had the accompanying effect of putting her into a state of low-level arousal that thrummed throughout her body for hours on end.
"Miranda!" came the call from the foyer. "Where are you?"
"Here," she replied. "In the den."
The light from the foyer announced her partner's presence - she saw her shadow before Andrea herself.
"I see you've done as I asked," she smiled. "Sit."
Miranda frowned. For she was sitting, right there at her desk.
"No, no," Andrea corrected, invoking Miranda's own characteristic dismissal. "Down there."
And she extended one finger to point at the floor, right next to the chair.
Miranda licked her lips and moved to the spot in question, drawing her knees up to her chest. Andrea promptly crossed over and assumed the recently vacated seat, which she pushed back from the desk to create space around them.
"Look at me."
She did.
"I'm going to sit here and touch myself. You're going to keep your hands in your lap and watch."
Oh, this was unfair. So unfair.
With every second, her frustration grew. It grew as Andrea unzipped her skirt - but didn't remove it entirely - and one hand disappeared underneath.
Even more unfair. She couldn't even see properly without craning her neck, and she'd not been instructed to do that. To try and distract from what was going on right next to her, Miranda focused on maintaining the glaze over her eyes that was integral to the entire performance.
The only sound she could hear was that of Andrea's fingers moving through invisible wetness, punctuated by soft sighs and heavy breathing.
Entirely unconsciously, Miranda began to press her knees tighter into her chest, rubbing them against her nipples. Something on her face must have given her away, for Andrea abruptly stopped stroking herself and raised an eyebrow.
"Kneel."
Miranda wanted to cry. But then Andrea continued attending to herself, and the sensation of her bare heels pressing into her center made itself known. She began to rock back and forth, grinding down and back and forth as subtly as she could. It was a flagrant flouting of their charade, where Miranda was literally incapable of disobeying Andrea's orders, but the very illicitness of it added a subsersive thrill.
"Oh!"
As soon as a traitorous gasp left her body, her face felt aflame. Again, Andrea stopped. This time, a smirk that could alternately been interpreted as mischevious or cruel curled around the edges of her lips.
"Sit with your legs crossed. Keep your hands where I can see them."
Miranda whined. Just as she began to curse herself for the unauthorised sound, she noticed that Andrea had remained silent. Chancing a glance upwards, it was to see that a fire had alighted in the younger woman's eyes, and was rapidly spreading to her cheeks.
"Beg me."
Oh. Did she really -
"Or you won't get to even look, let alone touch."
Cruel it was. Cruel, cruel woman.
"You may cry if you want to," she commented, keeping her voice idle, even as she bent down and extended two fingers to tip Miranda's chin up to look at her. "I'd like to see tears on those pretty cheeks of yours."
As always, Andy's wish was Miranda's command. The Editor allowed herself to do just that, albeit silently, eyes spilling over and face growing watery.
"Let me hear it. Be vocal. Beg. If you beg nicely enough, I might let you help."
"Please," Miranda whispered, voice roughened and wrecked in spite of having received precious little stimulation. "Please, Andrea. Please let me help you."
"And just why should I do that?" Andrea breathed back.
"I'll - I'll be good. I'll be good for you, so so good. Please. I can show you, if you'll let me."
"I think you can be," Andrea said finally. "You were doing so well, you know. Walking around the house naked for me, all day. Wearing that gorgeous collar I bought you. Sitting at my feet. And then you had to go and ruin it. Getting yourself off when I didn't tell you to. What a shame."
And she continued to rub herself, now using the other hand to slide inside her shirt and cup her breast.
"No!" Miranda cried, and this time it sounded more akin to an outright sob. "No, please. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Andrea!"
Her voice had taken on a mortifyingly high-pitched uptick. But it conveyed her desperation accurately, and perhaps it was that which caused Andrea to pause once more.
"You are?"
"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes!"
"Show me how sorry you are, then," Andrea intoned, and finally - finally! - lifted up her skirt.
Miranda all but crawled forward, not caring in the slightest how humiliating it objectively was, but just as she reached up to anchor her hands on Andrea's thighs -
"No. Keep your hands behind your back."
She'd take what she was given. Being blessed with reasonably decent coordination was a positive, even if it became abundantly transparent that it would not save her from having Andrea's arousal smeared across her face.
"Yes," the younger woman murmured from above, "exactly like that. Keep doing what you're doing. Oh, there. Yes, yes, yes!"
She could live there forever, nestled between Andrea's legs, her head held in place by firmly clamped, smooth thighs.
Dying in such a way suddenly seemed not an entirely unappealing way to go.
No, not at all.
+1 - The Met Gala
Miranda had hypnotised her with nary a word. No bell required.
It had taken a few months. Andy had resigned as Miranda's assistant and taken up a new post at the New York Mirror. They had told the twins, and Andy's parents, and Nigel and Emily.
They were now going to tell the whole world. At the Met Gala, no less. Miranda had insisted that they arrive in separate cars, one after the other. Andy had no idea why, but refrained from asking further questions. After all, she trusted Miranda implicitly. And when Miranda had a plan, it was always well-thought out and perfectly executed.
For her own part, Andy had opted for a vintage tuxedo, complete with a bow tie and devoid of a shirt. Nigel had provided truly exemplary assistance in sourcing it, as well as finding her a tailor Miranda was not too acquainted with. Her hair was piled up on her head in a vaguely Grecian style, and had been left in its natural curls.
The car trundled to a stop, just out of view of the assembled gaggle of photographers. It was clearly a deliberate move. The driver exited the vehicle and opened her door. After thanking him, she redirected her gaze to the car just behind her.
From which Miranda promptly rose out of.
Andy lost her breath.
The front of the dress was bad enough. It was crafted from a tight white silk, hugging her hips and chest in a manner that on anyone else would have looked downright scandalous, but on Miranda? Captivating.
Scratch that, actually. She looked obscene. But she was Miranda Priestly, and normal rules (and laws concerning public indecency) simply did not apply to her.
But then the older woman walked up to and in front of her, setting a quick pace towards the entrance of the museum, to where the paparazzi lay in wait.
Which afforded Andy a view of her from behind.
Miranda was more naked than clothed.
For the gown was entirely backless and strapless, plunging to just below her tailbone, a whisper away from the point at which the definition between the two sweeping curves of her rear became visible, held up by two tiny strings of pearls that traversed the length of her spine and wrapped around her neck. At the very base of the strings was a pure diamond, from which descended a chain holding up the silk covering her behind. Well-developed muscles flexed under an expanse of smooth, flawless skin with every step.
Andy swayed on her feet, the overwhelming dizziness and tunnel-vision not an act in the slightest. She understood hypnosis now. Intimately.
"Do come along."
Andy trailed after her like a rodent following the pied piper, like a dog pursuing a bone, like a balloon cut loose from its anchor rising into the sky.
"Thoughts?" Miranda called over her shoulder, holding out her hand for Andy to jog forward and take.
"Uh-huh," came the dazed mumble.
"I take it you approve?"
"Miranda," she murmured. "I'll do whatever you tell me to. Whatever you want."
"Excellent," the Editor purred, flashing a cheshire-cat wicked smile.
"Why," she asked, the question springing to mind with unstoppable momentum, "did you have us arrive in separate cars?"
Miranda preened. "You would have rendered me to a state completely unfit to be photographed in. Now. Shall we?"
And they stepped into the light.
FIN