Page 81 of Obedience

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Waiting on the bed in nothing but a pair of white boxers, Dylan sat propped up against the pillows as she scanned Greta’s bedroom. She always thought it looked incredibly expensive but lacked anything resembling a soul. The Venetian plastered walls, sparse furniture, and aggressive clean lines made it feel both clinical and unfinished. The poured grey concrete everywhere was depressing; Dylan didn’t see the attraction, considering how much the rent or mortgage must be. The walls were adorned with more artwork she didn’t appreciate or get, but she figured she just didn’t exist on the right cerebral plane to understand it. Give her a Lowry; matchstick men and women off to work in a factory—that, she got. The pieces in Greta’s apartment weren’t literal enough for her, but she had decided she was absolutely fine with being a fine art philistine. With the harsh white light of the bedside lamps dimmed and the subtle flicker of a few candles, it felt a little less like the waiting room of an aesthetics clinic.

The sound of movement behind the en-suite door pulled Dylan from her interior design critique, her thoughts immediately turning to what was about to happen. The anticipation and mere thought of being fucked by Greta was making the heat between her thighs steadily move past warmth into a ferocious burning. Dylan had never seen Greta strapped before, having always assumed she was more of a bossy bottom. But the very thought of her on the other side of that door, hard and ready to fuck her, was one of the sexiest thoughts Dylan had ever had. Then again, pretty much every thought she had of Greta held that title lately.

***

Filling her chest with a slow, calming breath, Greta looked down her body, her gaze coming to rest on the dildo protruding proudly from her groin. When she had told Dylan, "I will fuck you until you beg me to stop," she had intended to use a strap-on and meant every word. Every syllable had excited her wildly. She had wanted to experience the sensation of a harness pressing into her flesh and the weight of the dildo pulling at her hips, but now that it was on and the moment she had promised was about to happen, a flurry of nerves swelled in her stomach. Only one woman had ever seen her like this. Only one woman had felt Greta pressed against her while deep inside her. Muriel.

With an undeniable need to be nowhere else and with no one else but Dylan, Greta was getting better at staying in the present, but the magnitude of her loss had a way of running roughshod over the things she wanted most. This brand-new, or at least reemerging, feeling of her happiness being passive, made the guilt expand and contort in her chest. It was something Dylan could simply give her with a smile, a wink, a terrible joke, or a touch—no longer an external, heavy weight she had to constantly nurture.

Running her fingers under the straps of the harness, Greta gave her shoulders a tension relieving roll as she tried to anchor herself to the moment. She wanted to eviscerate the guilt she carried for moving on with her life but it held fast. It was buried too deep. It had burrowed under her skin and seeped into her marrow. She couldn't allow herself to think that Muriel would want this for her; that felt absurd, obscene even. But she knew Muriel would want happiness to run through her veins again, the way it once did. She knew the pernicious entity that had weaved itself into the very fibre of her being, infecting and infesting her, could be purged. It could be replaced; she just had to allow it. The simplicity of the notion that she just had to allow it made her lips curl into a soft smile, because the person, the only person, able to purge and replace it was waiting for her on the other side of the door she was facing.

With a deep, grounding breath, Greta reached out, her fingers trembling as the tips made contact with the lock. ‘You can do this, Vincent,’ she whispered to herself, as she slid back the latch.

Pulling the door open, Greta confidently stepped into the frame; legs crossed at the ankles, hips tilted to one side, arms raised and braced high against the wood. With her gaze trained on every flicker of her lover’s reaction, she smiled as Dylan’s hand balled into a fist in the sheet, as if she would fall off the very flat, very stable bed should she let go.

‘Holyyy shiiit,’ Dylan breathed on a long, shaky breath.

‘Is this what you had in mind for your reward?’ Greta’s voice was deep and measured. She loaded every syllable with glorious intent.

Mouth agape, Dylan’s eyes grew wide as she scanned every inch of Greta’s body. She cocked her head, her gaze finally settling on the dildo jutting from her groin. A gulp briefly filled the silence. ‘Is all of that for me, Doctor Vincent?’

Greta began to walk forward, her movements fluid and confident. ‘It is, Miss St John. So, by the time I reach you, those boxers better be on the floor.’

Scrambling frantically, Dylan pulled off her boxers as if they’d suddenly been filled with biting ants, her wide eyes fixed on Greta’s every step as she sauntered towards her. Unbeknownst to Dylan and despite her confident swagger, Greta’s heart thudded wildly with each bend of her knee and deliberately slow, rhythmic sway of her curved hips.

‘Fuck me, you look so good. Jesus!’ Dylan gushed.

Greta smiled at the praise. Reaching the edge of the bed, she placed one knee on the mattress, her breasts falling forward as she crawled on all fours up the length of Dylan's body. A deep lingering kiss on the mouth gave way to a slow trail of licks and soft bites all the way back down. Settling back on her thighs between Dylan's knees, Greta bit her own lip, eyes locked on her—glistening and ready.

Greta canted her head. ‘Is all of that for me, Miss St John?’ she said. Her voice deep and sultry.

‘All of it…’ Dylan licked her lips. ‘I fucking love how wet you make me.’

‘So do I,’ Greta breathed, dipping to drag a flat, thirsty tongue over the entire length of Dylan’s already soaked labia, twirling the tip around her clit with just enough flair to draw a loud gasp from Dylan’s throat.

Dylan white-knuckled the expensive sheet, staring unblinkingly at Greta’s raised arse, the straps pressed into her flesh, as she softly sucked Dylan’s clit and lapped at her arousal.

‘That fucking mouth,’ Dylan groaned, as her hips seemed to reflexively chase Greta as she pulled away, then swallowed.

Greta looked up, the pad of her thumb tracing the underside of her glistening bottom lip to wipe away Dylan’s wetness, before she softly sucked it. As Dylan rested back against the pillows, the sheer sensory overload of what she was seeing looked to be almost too much for her to process.

Now on her knees between Dylan’s parted legs, Greta rested back on her own thighs, reaching up to unpin her hair. With furrowed brows Dylan watched, her expression intense, as though the anticipation were causing her physical pain.

‘Greta Vincent, you are fucking magnificent,’ Dylan whispered, running her hands down Greta’s sides to her hips, her fingertips lightly tracing the lines of the harness.

Greta smiled, knowing that Dylan was a little—no, a lot—right. Despite her nerves she felt magnificent. She was ready to lose herself, to bury the dread and anxiety of the past few days and weeks by burying herself, quite literally, in Dylan.

Reaching forward, Greta’s hungry hands found Dylan’s skin. Her flat palms moved over the ink of Dylan’s chest tattoo and the soft curve of her modest breasts. Dylan’s nipples hardened instantly as Greta’s fingers began to tease them. Her thumbs brushed over the taut peaks, drawing low moans of approval from deep inside Dylan’s throat. Raking her fingertips down over Dylan’s belly, Greta’s eyes widened when she reached her hips. Dylan rose to meet the contact, her body wordlessly begging for more.

As Greta’s hand pushed over the slick, soaked surface of Dylan’s labia, she leaned to her mouth. ‘You’re this wet from watching me?’ she breathed against her lips, feeling the heat of Dylan’s smile push back against her own.

‘Have you seen you?’ Dylan whispered. Unable to take her eyes off her own hand, Greta leaned back to watch her fingers gather Dylan’s wetness before smearing it over the silicone. The sound of Dylan’s tight breaths began to fill the quiet room, her chest rising and falling dramatically. ‘Fuck. I need you inside me, G, please…’ Dylan begged as Greta moved toward her again.

As her desire and excitement smothered the apprehension she’d felt in the bathroom, a surge of adrenaline coursed through Greta. Looking at Dylan, seeing the desperation practically radiating from her, made Greta want to take control. Not in the way Margot would have. Greta had no desire to wield power for its own sake—not anymore and not ever again. The only thing she wanted was for Dylan to have every ounce of pleasure she deserved, and to be the one to give it to her.

Reaching Dylan’s face, Greta leaned in, hovering just short of contact, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips as Dylan’s mouth reached for hers. Greta denied her kiss. ‘Open yourself for me.’ The whispered words fell into Dylan’s open mouth.