When I'd been with men, and touched them, there hadn't seem to be any concern but rather a look of bored detachment as they waited for me to "get to the business," so to speak. And when I did get to touching them right where they wanted, they didn't look upon me like a lover with whom they were pleased, but rather a pet that was doing something good. Half the time I expected to be given a biscuit once I had finished.
Martha's responses were real, heartfelt, genuine. Every little thing I did for and to her caused her body to react a certain way, for her to feel a certain way, all working in turn with her emotions. It was a whole different world of love making--though I wondered if she thought of this as "making love," or more along the line that we were going to fuck, and fuck hard, as had happened the other night.
She uttered a soft moan. "The way you're touching me . . ." Martha's eyes were half closed as she exhaled slowly between pursed lips. "So much different than other times, Mistress."
So I am doing things a bit differently, I thought. "Please, Martha . . ." I know I was breaking convention here, but I needed to hear something besides titles. "Call me Olivia."
This opened her eyes, and I expected that. "Are you--?" Martha was very confused: addressing me on a first-name basis was something she obviously hadn't done in years. "You want this, Mistress?"
I mustered my best 'mistress voice,' without letting my tone break the mood. "If you call me 'Mistress' again tonight, I'll make you sleep at the foot of the bed." I smiled as I spoke, letting her see that I wasn't angry. "That's an order, my lovely sex toy."
That last perked her right up. "Oh, thank you . . . Olivia." She reached out to me, touching me lightly, pulling me closer. "You're so different tonight. Work getting better?" she whispered.
Yes, it was. I was dealing with far fewer questions about an employee who tried to commit suicide, and I was dealing with a co-worker who was my personal submissive--
Martha's right hand slid down my side, stopping only when she reached the swell of my hip. "I feel different as well. It's having to take over so much--" She was doing some of the work I used to do in the lab, and I knew she was struggling a little with the responsibility.
"You're doing fine." I ran the tips of my nails over her cheek. "You're going to be up to speed in no time."
"Hush." I leaned in and kissed her, softly, our lips barely touching, yet making a connection that hadn't been there before. "This isn't work; there's no talk of business here." I looked into her eyes. "There's just us."
Yes, that was that: no talk of business, no feeling as if we were clumsy with each other, no need to worry if one or the other wasn't acting too differently--
There was just love. Between us.
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